A Stranger in Skyrim
by N3k0
Summary: (Self-insert) Dropped unexpectedly into the world of Skyrim, how can a nobody from Earth handle the challenges of being Dragonborn? Reviews are love!
1. Chapter 1: Dreaming

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter One: Dreaming_

By: N3k0

In which an execution is postponed.

She woke slowly, feeling groggy. Ugh, she'd forgotten her meds, hadn't she? She blinked sleep from her eyes, but they were still blurry. Then again, they were always blurry. She needed glasses for a reason ….

She heard a horse snort, and the sound of wheels clattering on stone. The sound was jarring – she had never been in a horse-drawn carriage, but she realized with sudden clarity that she had apparently been sleeping in one. She sat up, looking around. Slowly, her eyes adjusted until she could see perfectly. That was even more alarming.

She looked down, to find her hands bound, her clothes replaced with thin rags that did nothing for the cold. What was going on? Where was she?

Across from her sat a similarly bound man, blond and muscular, with a hint of a beard. She noted that he apparently got to keep his clothing; he was dressed in chain mail with a brown padded gambeson over it, and blue cloth over that. He was watching her. She looked back at him, uncertain.

"The mystery girl wakes." That was not English. That was not English, but she understood it as clearly as if he'd been speaking her native tongue. "Tell me, Blue, what province do you come from?"

She shook her head to clear it. "Province?" she said, hesitantly, shocked to discover that she, too, was speaking the foreign tongue.

He looked at her a little strangely. "Well, wherever you're from, you picked a bad time to come to Skyrim, friend. You walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." He shook his head, sadly.

The thief was dressed in rags no better than hers, she noted. Like everyone else in the carriage, he, too, had his hands bound. "Damn you, Stormcloaks," he scowled. "Skyrim was fine before you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." The thief looked straight at her. "You there – you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

The soldier driving the carriage looked back at them. "Shut up, back there!"

"Anyway, what's wrong with him, eh?" The thief jerked his chin at the last man in the carriage. From the looks of him, he was some kind of nobleman, with fluffy fur covering heavy chain mail. Not only was he bound, but the … Imperials? … had gagged him, as well.

The blond guy snapped, "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you – oh gods – where are they taking us?"

Blondie sounded defeated. "I don't know where we're going … but Sovngarde awaits."

"No," the thief whimpered. "This can't be happening, this isn't happening!"

She looked between them, confused. She had to be dreaming. This was not her warm, safe, bed, in her warm, safe, home. And if they were prisoners, shouldn't they have something a little more restrictive than wide-open carts? And weapons somewhat more modern than swords? She liked medieval weaponry, but she knew guns would be infinitely more effective.

Well, if it was a dream, it was her dream, and she'd just have to go along with it.

Blondie looked back towards the thief. "Hey – " he said quietly. "What village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" She didn't like the thief. He was so _whiny._

Blondie smiled tiredly. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead. I – I'm from Rorikstead." Great, another place she'd never heard of.

Someone up ahead shouted. "General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting!"

"Good," someone else replied. "Let's get this over with."

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh – Divines, please help me!" Why would the gods help a thief? At least, she assumed the 'Divines' were gods of some sort. Maybe they were some kind of equal-opportunity gods. Gods who overlooked the various failings of a man. That would be new.

They rolled into a town of some sort, and oh, it was medieval. Thatched roofing, wooden huts. The walls and towers were made of stone, but it was rough, not the perfectly precise bricks she was used to.

"Look at him," Blondie called her attention back. "General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this." Elves? _Elves?_ Really? She craned her neck to try and get a good look at them, but the carriage had already moved on by the time she took interest.

"This is Helgen." Blondie's eyes went a little distant. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in ..." He shook his head. "Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

She heard a child's high voice ask who they were, and where they were going. His father shooed him inside the house – well, apparently it was an execution they were headed to. She wouldn't want her child to see something like that, if she had a child.

A woman's voice now, "Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!"

"Why are we stopping?" Whiny asked, his voice fearful.

Blondie just _looked_ at him. "Why do you think? End of the line." The carriage rolled to a stop. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." He stood. After a moment, she followed, standing shakily.

"No, wait! We're not rebels!" Whiny cried.

Blondie sighed. "Face your death with some courage, thief."

The others hopped out of the cart – she took her time crawling carefully down. She didn't like any kind of height, even a short drop like that.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" The reality of the situation was slowly dawning on her, as well. What if she died in a dream? Would she just wake up, or what would happen to her in the real world? No, she couldn't think of that. Something would happen, and she'd make it out alive. That was the way dreams worked.

"Step toward the block when we call your name. One at a time!" The woman was dark-skinned, wearing heavy plate armor. She'd never _seen_ real plate, nothing nearly so fine, anyway.

She glanced over at Blondie. He sighed again. "Empire loves their damned lists."

There was a long line of people ahead of them, all dressed in the same uniform – padded gambeson over chain mail, blue cloth over that. Finally, the man called, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric."

The soldier called again. "Ralof, of Riverwood." Blondie stepped forward next. "Lokir, of Rorikstead."

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't _do_ this!" The thief stepped forward – and then began running.

The woman cried out. "Halt!"

"You're not going to kill me!" Lokir called.

When the thief did not comply, she shouted again. "Archers!" The thief promptly became a pincushion, tumbling to the ground. Blood oozed from him as she watched. She'd never seen a man die before, even in dreams. She wasn't sure what to think, but there was a sense of relief to it. _At least it wasn't her._

"Anyone else feel like running?" The woman's gaze fell on her, and she shook her head slowly. She'd been shot with arrows before – even heavily padded, they hurt. She couldn't imagine the pain of live weaponry punching through her.

The man looked at her, now, as well. "You there, step forward." She did, slowly. He was dressed in a leather jerkin with a skirt that covered his upper thighs. "Who are you?"

"My name is Mariah," she said uncertainly. The strange language tumbled from her lips. "I don't know where I am, but there has to be some kind of a mistake – I didn't do anything." She tried to make her case quickly. "I've never been to – to Skyrim – before in my life – I've never even heard of it before. Please, let me go, I'll do whatever you want." This was her one shot to convince them not to kill her.

"Captain …" the soldier said, looking towards the armored woman. "What should we do? She's not on the list."

"Forget the list." The captain said it dismissively. "She goes to the block."

The soldier nodded grimly. "By your orders, Captain." He turned his attention back to her. "Forgive me." He looked a little sad, at least.

She considered running, but where would that get her, really? Shot dead on the spot. There was still a chance something would happen to save her. She just had to hold out hope.

"Follow the captain, Mariah." His accent butchered her name, but it wasn't like she was in a position to take offense, really.

So, she did, pausing in the middle of the line. A man stood before the Jarl, arms folded. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero." He shook his head. "A hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." The Jarl grunted, unable to respond for the gag over his mouth. "You started this war!" The general – she recognized his voice from before – poked the Jarl in the chest. "Plunged Skyrim into chaos! Now, the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

A sound, then, a distant roar that made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "What was that?" the soldier asked.

"It's nothing, carry on."

The captain snapped a salute. "Yes, General Tullius!" She looked toward a woman dressed in brown, with a yellow hood. "Give them their last rights."

The priestess – for that was what she appeared to be – raised her hands. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are –"

One of the Stormcloaks stepped forward. "For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with."

"As you wish."

"Come on, I haven't got all morning!"The red-haired Stormcloak stood before the block, until the captain shoved him down so his head was resting on it. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

The headsman's axe went up. The headsman's axe came down. Suddenly, there was a body without a head, blood squirting from the stump like an effect in a cheesy horror show – only, she could smell it, taste it in the air. She shuddered, eyes wide. People were talking, but she couldn't understand them.

The captain pointed at her. "Next, the prisoner in the rags!"

The roar came again, echoing over the distant mountains. "There it is again, did you hear that?" The soldier looked around.

"I_ said,_ next prisoner!"

The soldier took her arm when she didn't immediately move forward, gently led her to the block. "Nice and easy." She stared down at the box. The redhead was already lying inside. There wasn't enough room for another head. She began to laugh, a little hysterically. This wasn't happening. It was all a dream. She had to believe that. She'd wake up just before they cut her head off. She _had_ to believe that.

They shoved her down so she was kneeling on the man's body. Never had a dream felt so real. She could feel him under her, could feel the sticky blood on her knees. When they lowered her face to the block, she turned her head to avoid getting blood _all_ over her face, though some got on her cheek anyway. It couldn't be avoided. She realized she was shaking, almost violently.

The headsman's axe went up, and she closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.

Another roar went up. The General's voice, then – "What in Oblivion is _that?!"_

"Sentries," the captain called. "What do you see?"

"It's in the clouds!"

She cracked her eyes open, and a massive _thing_ descended from the sky, landing on the tower in front of her. The headsman was knocked off his feet by the impact.

She'd never seen one, had never believed they existed.

But even she could identify it.

"Dragon!"


	2. Chapter 2: The Dragon

_**Chapter Two: The Dragon**_

_In which fire is generally bad._

By: N3k0

The dragon opened its mouth and sound rushed out, a disorienting wave of it that knocked her sideways. She … _understood_ it, just as she'd understood the foreign tongue, though she couldn't put meaning to it in the traditional sense. It just … it meant force.

The soldier put himself between her and the dragon, his sword drawn. Not that it would likely do him much good. The dragon shouted again, and she didn't see what happened next; she tumbled to her other side, facing away from her imminent doom.

"Guards!" The general shouted. "Get the townspeople to safety!"

She shifted slightly, rolled back on her toes, standing without the use of her hands. She'd heard that particular trick was hard for some people – it was easy for her. Her head spun, her ears rung. She shook her head to clear it.

Blondie was there. Somehow, he'd gotten his hands free, and he was beckoning her. "Hey – Blue – get up! Come _on,_ the gods won't give us another chance!" When he knew she was up and moving, he turned. "This way!" He began running toward a tower. After a moment or two, she followed him, passing a dying Imperial soldier on the way. There was blood and fire everywhere ….

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the tower, and the first thing she saw was a pair of half-dead Stormcloaks. Another knelt nearby, tending to their wounds. How had it wrought so much destruction so quickly?

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing?" Blondie – Ralof – sounded urgent. Everything was _urgent._ Her head was spinning. "Could the legends be true?"

The Jarl's voice was deep, she noted. "Legends don't burn down villages." He turned his attention towards her, and she felt small all of a sudden. "We need to move – _now!"_

Ralof nodded. "Up through the tower, let's go!"

She followed Ralof up through the tower, panting before she reached the top. She was not in good enough shape to be facing off with a dragon. Definitely not. A soldier was digging at some rubble – apparently the tower had begun collapsing from the top already.

The dragon was there, and suddenly a big chunk of the wall was not. He spoke _Fire_, and then fire shot from his mouth to engulf the soldier, who screamed, flailing his arms to try and put out the flames. The stone didn't burn long, but the soldier was doomed. He flopped to the floor, so much ash. The dragon flapped off.

Ralof beckoned her forward. "See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!"

She stared at him like he was crazy. It was a ridiculous feat he expected of her. She couldn't jump that distance, and even if she could it was a long drop. She'd break her legs. She shook her head, taking a step back. He tugged her forward. "What are you waiting for – go! We'll catch up to you when we can."

She still balked at the distance – until he shoved her forward. She teetered on the edge, flailing a bit, and then fell towards the inn.

She landed belly-down on the thatched side of the roof, scrabbling for any handhold, sliding towards the edge. She didn't want to fall, but it didn't look like she had much of an option. She slid down, falling to land on her ass with a thump. Ow. Everything hurt now. Fantastic.

She stood again – because it was _urgent – _and then immediately covered her head with her arms as part of the tower fell, flaming rocks showering her.

Through the inn. She'd survive this dream somehow – she'd already missed her appointment with Death earlier, so now she had no choice but to continue. She edged around the wall. Stairs, that would take her inside the inn, then she'd figure out where to go from there, right?

Except, not only was the inn on fire, but more importantly, there was no way through. What was she supposed to do now?

There was one section – a cupboard that hadn't yet started to burn. Gods, it was hot – she shuddered, then began to climb over it, fire licking at her arm. She _liked_ fire, but she didn't much care for the idea of burning alive. She made it over – it wasn't that hard of a climb, so even she could manage it – and out the front door of the inn. She'd have burns, but at least she was alive. That was better than a lot of people could say today.

The fire had felt so _real, _though ….

She came upon two men – the soldier and some other guy. The soldier was beckoning to a small child – the child from before? Surely not. "Haming, you need to get over here, _now!_"

The child ran towards him – and the dragon spoke _fire._

Flames engulfed the boy. No. No, that didn't … that didn't make sense. Children weren't supposed to die – that just wasn't right. But it was true. She didn't know how to take that. The cold, practical side of her pointed out that children were just as mortal as everyone else – and she was particularly mortal. She had to get out of this hellhole before she, too, was set ablaze.

"Haming!" The soldier screamed his denial. "No!"

She ran forward then, dragging the soldier back. "You can't help him, now."

He looked back and up at her, lost. She didn't know what he read in her expression, but he swallowed, nodding once. "You – you're right."

Well, he took that better than she was taking it. She could felt her hands trembling.

"Let's – let's go. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense." She let him go, and he ran off. She followed at a slow jog.

"Stay close to the wall!" She dropped into a crouch, obeying without question. The dragon landed right above them, its wingtip so close she could have touched it.

Oh gods, she was going to die.

The dragon spoke fire, and fire engulfed a soldier, though fortunately not the soldier she was following. She had to believe this was some kind of horrible dream, and she'd wake up soon. As long as she believed that, she could ignore the screams, the way the man's flesh melted from his bones. The smell of charred meat was everywhere.

She was going to be sick. She was going to be horribly, violently sick. She'd never had smells invade her dreams before, and her arms still hurt from the burns.

Oh gods, this wasn't a dream, and she was going to die.

"Quickly, follow me!"

The dragon had taken flight – now was the only time to run. So, she ran, still following the soldier.

The general shouted at the soldier. "Hadvar!" All right, his name was apparently Hadvar. "Into the keep, soldier! We're leaving!"

All around, she could hear the sounds of screaming, dying people.

And it was all. So. Real. She felt herself shaking, terror overtaking her. She couldn't move as that massive black shape swooped down overhead. Fire blazed from its maw, and she found herself feeling relieved because it got someone else. She got to live. The soldier turned back to look at her, then trotted back to shake her by the shoulders. "Snap _out of it!_" She looked up and over at him. "Look, if we don't get inside the keep, and I mean _now,_ that dragon will eat the both of us! You don't want that, do you?" She shook her head, mutely. "Then come on!"

The soldier – Hadvar – dragged her along by her arms. Well, he'd only grabbed the one, but they were kind of bound together at the wrists.

"Ralof, you damned traitor! Out of our way!"

Oh, it was Blondie again, she noted, dully. "We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time!"

"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar dragged her towards the keep, so she went, stumbling after him.

The door slammed shut behind them.


	3. Chapter 3: The Keep

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Three: The Keep_

By: N3k0

In which supplies are gathered.

"Looks like we're the only ones who made it," Hadvar said, grimly, letting go of her arm. "Was that _really_ a dragon? The bringers of the End Times?"

She shook her head. "I mean, probably, it was. It looked like a dragon, anyway, or a wyvern, maybe."

"Wyvern?" He looked at her for an explanation.

She sighed. Right, he wouldn't know Earth myths; this was apparently not Earth. "Nevermind. But look, if you're talking about an apocalypse, it's not going to happen. Back home, we have apocalypses predicted every other year. It never happens."

"If you say so." He looked dubious, though. Probably, his superstitions were too strong. And really, a dragon would make a pretty convincing argument for the end of the world. "Anyway, we should keep moving. Come here, let me see if I can get those bindings off." She walked forward as he drew his belt knife. He cut through her bonds as carefully as he could, but he still nicked the skin. She winced a bit. She'd never _really_ gotten hurt in a dream before. Shouldn't she be waking up? "There you go." He smiled at her. "Take a look around, there should be something in here that'll fit you. I'm going to see if I can find something for these burns."

She honestly doubted they had armor tailored to her exact measurements, but still, she searched through some of the chests. Most of it was too small, but she did find a set of leathers that was obviously sized for a bigger man. She could wear that. She turned her back to the soldier, pulling the rags off. The leather was probably cleaner than the scraps of cloth the Imperials had given her.

That done, she shrugged into the armor. It was tight across the chest, but over all it fit well enough. Were men really expected to wear skirts, too? She glanced over at Hadvar. Apparently so.

She would have to find real pants. She felt rather exposed with just a little skirt protecting her modesty.

She tugged a helmet on over her hair, finding herself pleasantly surprised that it, too, fit well enough. That done, she looked around until she could find a weapon. One sword lay on a bed, another hung from a weapons rack. Both were relatively sharp. Florentine, huh? She could work with it.

She strung their sheathes onto a belt she'd conveniently located, then strapped the belt to her waist. Good times. She was ready to fight, or as ready as she'd ever be.

Suddenly she wished she'd spent a little more time with the stick jockeys at the park.

Oh well.

Hadvar led her down a short hallway to a gate with a pull-chain next to it. A man and a woman were arguing on the other side – the man wanted to get moving as quickly as possible, the woman complained she was out of breath. Well, she could certainly understand that, though she'd had a minute to catch her own breath.

"Hear that?" Hadvar asked quietly. "Stormcloaks. Maybe we can reason with them." He pulled the chain, and the gate sunk into the floor. Walking into the next room, he held up his hands. "Hold on now, we only want to …."

One of the Stormcloaks drew a warhammer, another drew a sword and shield.

"If you want to die, so be it!" Hadvar drew his own sword, having never let go of his shield.

Hadvar did most of the work. Warhammer brought the weapon down on his shield, while Sword and Board circled around behind. She crept into the room behind Sword and Board. She knew what she had to do, she'd just never done it with live weaponry.

Hadvar bashed his shield out, catching Warhammer by surprise, knocking her back. He slashed across Warhammer's belly, and she cried out as her intestines spilled from her belly.

She stepped forward, then drove one of her swords into Sword and Board's back. He never saw her coming. There was a sickening noise as she drew the blade out of his back, and oh, there was so much blood – wasn't she supposed to be getting used to the sight of it? He gurgled as he dropped to the floor, and she just stared at him.

This was the part where she was supposed to be sick, but all she felt was a strange fascination. She'd never really killed anyone before. It had been so … easy.

Hadvar said something, but she didn't really notice at first. She poked Sword and Board in the side with her foot. He groaned slightly. He wasn't actually dead. She swallowed heavily. She couldn't have him coming back for seconds, unlikely as it was that would happen. Coup de grace, make it quick and painless, just like in D&D. Only, she wasn't just saying she'd do it, she had to _do it._ She rolled Sword and Board over. Blood was still oozing from his mouth, he just kind of stared up at her, eyes glassy. She held her sword point at his throat, and her hand was trembling.

She couldn't do it, after all. Not in cold blood, not like this. She pressed the point in, not quite enough to draw blood – then pulled away, shaking her head.

"Are you coming?" Hadvar asked her.

She looked up at him, feeling shaky. "He's not dead," she whispered.

"Then kill him, and let's move on." He frowned at her.

She shook her head. "I – I can't," she explained.

"Oh – I see." Hadvar shook his head slightly, then drew his own sword again. He slashed across Sword and Board's neck, clean and easy. Blood splattered both of them, spraying with some force.

She felt faint.

He pulled her gently forward, and she followed him, after a moment, down a staircase and to the right.

The dragon roared, and half the keep fell down in front of them. "Look out!" Hadvar fell back for a moment. That could have been right on their heads. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She was going to get killed! This was insanity. Pure, incomprehensible, insanity. "Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easily." Hadvar inspected the rubble before them as dust and dirt fell around him.

She sneezed. Of course she'd still be allergic to everything.

When the dust finally settled, he walked calmly forward again, opening the door to the next room. She smelled fire and dried herbs. It was some kind of storeroom, but there were also a few tables and chairs, some things sitting on shelves that looked interesting.

"What are you doing? We need to get out of Helgen, now!" She spotted a pair of Stormcloaks at about the same time Hadvar did. She noticed he had a bow hanging from his back about the time he pulled it up over his shoulders. There was a quiver of arrows hanging from his hips – he drew one, fired it. The first Stormcloak fell with an arrow piercing his skull. He was screaming. He was screaming, because he wasn't dead. Another arrow flew, taking the other Stormcloak directly in the throat. Blood bubbled up as he clutched at the wound.

Hadvar hung the bow across his shoulders again, then drew his sword. He came to the first man he'd shot, ripped his arrow free of the skull it was lodged in. Blood oozed from the hole that was left behind. He kicked the Stormcloak until he rolled over, and slashed the man's throat. She watched in horrified fascination. The soldier was quick and efficient. She'd give him that much at least. He pulled the other arrow free of the other dying man's throat. Blood sprayed a little. He wiped both arrows off on the Stormcloak's blue cape, then shoved them back in the quiver.

"Look around, see if you can find anything useful. There should be potions, things like that."

Potions? As in, magical potions? She spotted something on one of the shelves that could have been a potion. Bringing it to his attention, he nodded. "See that blue liquid inside? That's a potion for mages, restores their magic. And this –" He grabbed a reddish-looking potion from the other cabinet. "This'll be a healing potion. People put just a little dye in them usually, so you know what you're getting when you drink them."

"Are there any other kinds?" She asked, curiously.

He laughed. "There are all kinds of potions out there, Mariah. You'd be amazed at what a few ground-up herbs can do for a person."

She thought about it for a moment. Herbal remedies had done wonders for her mom's bad back. Maybe this wasn't really any different from that? Or maybe it was all snake oil. She'd have to try it and see.

She found a few more potions, carrying them tucked under one arm, against her side – some more red ones, another blue, and one greenish potion as well. In one of the sacks, she found a crystal. Hadvar identified it as a 'soul gem.' "What's a soul gem?" she asked.

"They're used by mages. They suck the soul right out of a person, use it for enchanting."

Hu-uh. She tucked that under her arm, too. Maybe she'd learn more about this magic business later.

After that, they continued onward, down another short hallway and down another staircase. "The torture room," Hadvar said, expression grim. "Gods, I wish we didn't need these."

The sounds of combat drifted up from the torture room, battle cries and the clashing of steel.

One Imperial lay on the ground already. Two Stormcloaks had another Imperial backed against the wall. The Imperial shot _lightning_ from his fingertips, and one of the Stormcloaks started convulsing from the sudden pain of it. That was magic then. Magic was real. Good to know.

The other Stormcloak brought a sword down on Magic Man's arm, slicing a big chunk out of it. The lightning stopped, and the first Stormcloak fell to his knees, unable to move for the relentless twitching.

Hadvar sprang into action, drawing his sword and bringing it down across Number Two's back. Number Two reeled from the damage, and Magic Man drew a dagger, slashing his throat with an expression almost like glee. He opened one of the cages that lined the wall with a key, then threw the first Stormcloak – still jerking about like a fish on a line – into the cell. "You happened along just in time," the man informed them, closing the cell door and locking it again. "These boys seemed a bit upset at how I'd been entertaining their comrades."

"Don't you even know what's going on?" Hadvar demanded. "A dragon is attacking Helgen!"

The man – probably the torturer, if this was a torture chamber – laughed. "A dragon? Please, don't make up nonsense." He paused, thoughtfully. "Although, come to think of it, I did hear some rather odd noises coming from over there." He smiled, walking over to one of the cages. A dead body lay inside, with a book, another potion, and some gold coins. She had to assume that was the local currency. Gold was heavy, though.

"Come with us, we need to get out of here," Hadvar demanded.

The torturer folded his arms. "You have no authority over me, boy."

"Didn't you hear me? I said the keep is under attack!" The torturer walked off, behind a counter. He didn't seem particularly concerned about the matter.

Hadvar paused, looking into the cage the torturer had been looking at. "Wait a minute, it looks like there's something in here." He looked over at her, thoughtfully.

"Don't bother with that. Lost the key ages ago. Poor fellow screamed for weeks." The torturer clearly enjoyed his job; he said the words with relish.

Hadvar rooted around in a pouch at his side, finding some thin strips of metal. "Here, see if you can get it open with some picks, hey?" He handed her the picks, and she looked down at them, then back at the cage. What, did he expect her to be some kind of career criminal, then? He did!

"I don't know how …."

He smiled. "It's easy. Here, let me show you." He tugged her gently towards the cage, which smelled of rotting meat. She set down the potions and the soul gem, putting her hands near the lock. He handed her a thin blade, as well. "Now, like this." He held his hands on hers, showing her what to do – it wasn't actually all that hard, though she suspected the lock wasn't made to be terribly challenging.

"Now – that's a tome of magic if I ever saw one, and those kinds of robes are usually enchanted with magic. I'd take it all." So she did, carefully undressing the man. Apparently he didn't believe in underwear – fortunately for her, she wasn't particularly affected by displays of nudity. The robe would have to be washed before she even thought of wearing it. _Thoroughly_ washed. She was not wearing anything that still smelled of dead guy, nor did she imagine it'd sell well.

But how to carry – ah, she found a backpack lying on an end table. Whoever it used to belong to, it was hers now. She peered inside – there was already one book, so she tucked the spellbook in on top of it. She carefully folded the hooded robe, then stuffed it inside. Atop that, she rested the potions, soul gem, and the small handful of gold pieces. She just had to hope the potions' corks would hold. Slinging the backpack on, she shifted a bit until it settled into place. Awesome.

As they proceeded down the next hall, the torturer called after them, "There's no way out that way, you know." She shook her head and continued to follow Hadvar. She had more faith in her current traveling companion than that.

They passed several locked cells on the way, and she tried not to look too closely at the contents. There was at least one old, bloody skeleton in there, and she had no doubts in her mind it, too, was real.

Another couple of hallways – all of them lit by open firepits or candles – and then they came upon a large room. It was decorated with cages, some standing, some fallen, most of which were inhabited by dead people. At the far end of the room, she spotted an old, broken-down section of wall. That must be it. The exit.

Hadvar called, "This way," and she followed.


	4. Chapter 4: The Cave

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Four: The Cave_

By: N3k0

In which the end is in sight.

They traveled down a narrow corridor. If this passage wasn't supposed to go anywhere, then why light it up with large braziers? Why would the braziers be lit? Apparently someone used this tunnel – pretty frequently, in fact.

" – I don't know! Just give me a minute, all right?"

More Stormcloaks? Or would they run across some allies for once?

Nope. Stormcloaks.

The closest was a woman wielding a greatsword. Hadvar closed with her.

Mariah held her swords ready, creeping into the room. Two men circled around the other way – she found herself facing off with Warhammer and Greataxe.

Warhammer brought his weapon up, and time slowed to a crawl. She slashed out, desperately, slicing his throat with one of her swords. Blood sprayed, catching her in the face. She blinked, but it didn't really help to clear her vision. She pulled back instinctively, hearing the whoosh of the axe as it travelled past. She swiped her forearm against her eyes – not that it did much good – finding herself back-to-back with Hadvar.

Greataxe swung for her head, she scrambled out of the way. Big weapons swung slow – something that wasn't as true in Amtgard because foam weapons were lighter – she drove her sword into his belly while he was bringing his weapon to bear. There was a splurch as she ripped her sword free. He dropped the axe, clutching his stomach. Without thinking, she swung her sword once more, slashing his throat as well. She was completely covered in gore, and she found herself panting from exertion.

Suddenly, arrow! It whooshed past her head, clattering on the far wall. She ducked, after the fact, looking around. Hadvar, who had taken out Greatsword, was already on it. He ran towards the pair of archers, bashing one out of the way with his shield. He sliced out at the other one, snapping the bow with his sword.

She walked towards them, as Hadvar slashed the second archer's throat. He blocked an arrow with his shield, then drove his sword into the first archer's eye. The first archer fell with a wet thump.

"Well," she said, panting a little bit. "That was … fun."

She would not think about the fact she'd killed three people so far. She couldn't think about that right now, not if she wanted to continue living. So, she didn't. It simply wasn't a thing anymore.

"See if there's anything on these rebels you can use, but hurry about it. We need to keep moving."

She nodded. Greatsword – she'd actually been trained, somewhat, to use a two-handed sword. Florentine was fun to play with, but she was mostly using the right sword only, and it was harder to block while dual-wielding. So, two-hander it was. She sheathed her two broadswords, then went to collect the weapon. The sheath strapped to her back; she had to take the backpack off, put the sheath on, then slide the pack back over her shoulders. She left the sword out. The odds were good she'd need it again in this pit.

Another hallway, this one with a drawbridge for some reason, and then they were in a cave. An actual, cave-like cave, and yet there was still a pair of braziers to light the way. Who cared that much about lighting up caves, anyway? Unless this was some sort of secret exit, which was of course the hope, but then why wouldn't the torturer know about it? It was just outside his domain, after all.

She shook her head, pressing on – and then, behind her, the keep fell in. "Damn it," Hadvar said grimly. "No going back that way. I guess we're lucky that didn't come down on top of us." He shook his head. "We'd better push on. I'm sure the others will find another way out."

She nodded, heading down the stairs. It was chilly in the cave, but that was understandable as a stream ran through it. Following the stream seemed like a good idea, so she did, stepping carefully to avoid getting her feet wet. The stream led to a dead-end, but there was a side passage off of it, lit by a lantern – she walked down that way, taking the lantern with her and ignoring the skeleton it sat by. _She_ wasn't going to die down here. No way.

And then spiderwebs.

She shuddered, just looking at them. They were overhead, they were everywhere. And the next room was _full of them._ It was just. A. Dream. She could handle spiders, in dreams. She could handle spiders in real life, from a distance. She could handle spiders in real life with Raid. There was no Raid. She could handle this anyway. She could –

_It was massive._

She saw it from all the way down the hallway. It was crawling around down there, in the next room – oh gods there were two of them and she was not prepared to handle giant monster spiders. She could not – could _not!_ – force herself to move forward.

"What's wrong?" Hadvar shook her shoulder gently, speaking quietly.

She swallowed heavily. "Spider."

"Spider?"

She nodded slowly. "Spiders."

He looked over her shoulder, then gently pushed past her. "We can handle them."

When he walked down there to face them, she inched forward, covering her head with a hand. She shivered as she passed under a section of cobweb and oh gods she could feel them crawling on her arms and she couldn't think about it or she would completely freeze up – oh gods –

Two more of them crawled down from the ceiling.

Hadvar faced them down without fear. Or at least he didn't seem to be afraid anyway. She shuddered, holding her suddenly-shaking greatsword with both hands. Hadvar killed one easily, another climbed on top of him, mandibles snapping at his face. He shoved at it, trying to get it off. The other two advanced on her.

She swallowed heavily, holding the sword between her and the spiders.

One of them lunged for her and she sliced its forelegs off. It recoiled from her, chittering fiercely. The other lunged at her, and she slashed down on its hideous face.

Green blood oozed from it. The first one lunged for her again – she barely got out of the way in time. Bringing the sword up, she thrust at the spider. Even though they were both dead – they looked dead – she hacked at them repeatedly, until she'd completely exhausted herself, and she had to collapse near the greenish puddles of ex-spider.

_Oh gods._ She was covered in spider goop, and she swiped at herself, trying to clean it off and it wasn't working and they were still there – she scrabbled back away from the corpses, shaking.

"Are you all right?" Hadvar asked, stepping over the spider bits. One of their legs crackled as he broke it. "No, you're not all right," he answered himself. "Come here." He offered her his hand, and she took it, and he had to feel her shaking. He didn't comment on it. "So, spiders, eh?"

She nodded, mutely. He drew her into the room proper, and once she was inside, she couldn't leave fast enough. She ran for the other exit, dragging her sword behind her.

There was another longish hallway – she looked back to make sure no spiders were following – with more stream running through it. She walked a few steps down it, crossing the stream quickly – more distance between her and the spiders – and Hadvar pulled her up short. "Hold up," he said quietly. "There's a bear just ahead, see her?" He took the bow off his shoulder. "I don't _really_ want to tangle with her right now, but we might have to."

She nodded slowly as he shoved the bow towards her. "Take this," he said. So not only did he expect her to be a career criminal, but he expected her to be a master of all weaponry. She wasn't a great shot, but she wasn't terrible either …. "See if you can catch her by surprise, hey?"

He handed her his quiver as well. She sheathed the greatsword first, then took the quiver, hanging it awkwardly across her shoulder. Its strap was long enough, it hung down to sit comfortably against her butt. She could work with this.

Drawing one arrow, she nocked it. She drew back to her ear, then slowly let the string return to its default tension. Another draw, she relaxed it again. Finally, she drew, shot – and to her great astonishment, she landed the shot. The bear roared in pain, standing up, then charging them. Oh gods. She reached for another arrow, putting it to the string. This one missed. Hadvar rushed forward, catching the brunt of the bear's assault with his shield with a grunt. He drove his sword up into the massive beast's belly, then dragged it up. The bear's innards splattered onto the ground in front of him. It grunted, looking down, falling to all fours, then falling to its side.

"Good shot," Hadvar smiled at her again.

She nodded. "_Lucky_ shot. You did good, yourself."

He continued smiling, wiping his blade off on the bear's pelt. She tried to hand him his bow back, but he wouldn't have it. "Keep it. You might need it down the road."

Another nod. "Okay." She slung the bow over her shoulder, and continued onward. She could smell fresh air – this had to be the way out.

"We made it!"

They stepped out into the sunshine together.


	5. Chapter 5: The Road

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Five: The Road_

By: N3k0

In which everything is calm for a moment.

"Wait!"

There came a loud _whoosh_ from above – she shielded her eyes against the sun, looking up, to see the dragon winging its way across the sky.

Hadvar had more sense. He crouched in the shadow of a big rock until the dragon passed with a roar.

"Looks like he's gone for good this time … but I don't think we should stick around to see if he comes back." The soldier smiled at her, a tired laugh escaping him. "The closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle's the blacksmith there, I'm sure he'd help you out." He started walking away, then. "It's probably best if we split up. Good luck. I wouldn't have made it without your help today."

She followed, catching up at a slow jog. Split up? Hell no.

They traveled down a broad, ill-defined path from the snowy mountain. "Listen," Hadvar said after a while. "You should head to Solitude, join up with the Imperial Legion. I'm sure we could use someone like you. And – if the rebels have themselves a dragon, General Tullius is the only one who can stop them." No … she didn't think the rebels were responsible for the dragon. She didn't say as much though; let him believe what he wanted, for now. But, she remembered that Blondie and the Jarl had been just as surprised at the dragon's appearance as anyone.

"See that ruin up there?" He stopped, and she leaned down, hands on her knees, catching her breath. She wasn't cut out for the 'run everywhere' sort of lifestyle, no. "Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares."

"Oh?" She looked up at the ruin. It looked like a series of tall arches crawling down the distant mountainside, from here.

He nodded. "Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that sort of thing. I admit, I still don't much like the look of it."

Their ill-defined path met up with an actual, cobblestone-paved road. Hadvar kept up the relentless pace until they came to a set of three tall, black and gray stones. "These," he said, gesturing at them. "These are the Guardian Stones, three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape. They're said to grant blessings to those people who prove themselves worthy – go ahead, see for yourself."

The one to the left had a picture of a masked man wielding daggers on it. Some kind of ninja. To the right, she saw an armored warrior. Straight ahead stood some kind of wizard.

The blessings should correspond to the pictures, right?

She wasn't any kind of sneak-thief, and she wasn't really trained as a warrior. The only thing she had going for her, really, was her mind. She promised herself, then, that she'd study that spellbook – she'd learn magic, if it killed her. Walking forward, she put both hands on the mage stone.

At first, nothing happened. It was just more silly superstition. She sighed, pulling away – only to find that she couldn't. It was like her hands were glued to the stone. Light shone then, tracing the picture of the mage, dotted with lights that were brighter than others. It looked like some kind of constellation map, but she knew there were no stars in Earth's sky that matched that shape – she would've remembered hearing about a mage, warrior, or thief constellation. The light shone then in the big hole in the stone, before shooting upwards into the sky.

A tingling crept up her arms, fizzing in her blood, calling to something inside her … and something inside her responded, opening like a flower to sunlight.

This – this was what she was meant for. She _knew _it.

A smile crept across her face, as the stone released her. Magic. That was the only explanation for it. She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. They fizzed with power, but she didn't know how to use it yet. She'd learn, though.

It would come easy to her, she was sure. Everything else did.

"Mage, eh?" Hadvar asked, drawing her attention back to the present. "Well, to each his own. It's not for me to judge. Come on, there's still a ways left to Riverwood."

She nodded, following once more.

This place, this "Skyrim," was truly beautiful. Their path ran alongside a river, and it didn't reek. There wasn't a bunch of trash in it – it looked pure, and clean. She was sure she'd never see a washing machine floating downstream in it, if only because such things didn't exist in Skyrim, near as she could tell. Big pine trees lined the road, along with flowers and ferns she couldn't identify. She was looking up at the wide-open sky, admiring the fluffy, white, cotton-candy clouds, when Hadvar spoke again.

"Listen – as far as I'm concerned, you've already earned your pardon."

Considering she hadn't done a damn thing to be pardoned for, she agreed wholeheartedly.

"But, until we get that confirmed by General Tullius, just stay clear of other Imperial soldiers and avoid any complications, all right?" He turned back to face her, waiting for her response.

She nodded. "Understood."

"Good." He continued on down the road.

There rose a howl from the forest, and it rose the small hairs on the back of her neck. Wolves? They wouldn't attack humans, surely. Right?

Wrong.

Two of the beasts lunged out of the forest. "Hadvar!" she cried, bringing the bow to bear. She was slow. He blocked one of the animals' snapping jaws by bashing its face with the shield. It limped to the side, momentarily stunned. She shot for the other one, her arrow sailing over its back to clatter uselessly off the rocky cliff beside them. Frustrated, she dropped the bow and drew the greatsword, One of the wolves bit down on Hadvar's unprotected leg.

She brought the sword down on its spine. Something cracked loudly, and the animal let go, yelping in pain. She thrust her sword at it, but she missed. The wolf limped back, looking between them. Hadvar brought the hilt of his sword down on its muzzle. It fell to the ground, stunned.

The first wolf ran off, deciding, apparently, that they were too tough of prey to handle alone.

"Are you all right?" She sheathed her sword, collected her bow and the arrow she'd shot. He seemed to be favoring that leg, but he nodded once to her question.

"Fine, fine. Glad that wasn't a little bit higher, is all."

She laughed a bit. "You don't want to be singing soprano, I take it?"

"Exactly."

They pressed on.

Her skin itched a bit, where her arms were caked with blood and spider guts. She paused by the stream, looking over at Hadvar. "I don't know about you, but I _have_ to get clean before I talk to anybody else."

"Ah – right, you're right." He looked down at himself, apparently only just realizing that he, too, was covered in gore. "I should probably wash up, too."

After some deliberation, she pulled off the boots – which were too big for her anyway – then turned away from Hadvar, walking up to the edge of the stream. It wasn't likely she was going to get much in the way of privacy out here, but she decided that even if it wasn't a dream, she wasn't going to get all worked up over it anyway.

She set her boots on the ground near the water's edge, the bow next to them. Her quiver went next, then the backpack and the greatsword. She unfastened her belt, gently setting it on the ground beside the rest of her things. Tugging the helmet off next, she wriggled her way out of the leather outfit with some effort. It had been much too tight across the chest, but then, it was obviously cut for a man. She breathed a sigh of relief to be free of it.

Hadvar coughed politely. She looked back at him. "What?"

"I – that is, I didn't expect you to …."

She tilted her head to the side. "Leather shrinks if you get it wet, doesn't it?"

"It depends on if it's treated properly first … but … you …."

A deep sigh. "Look, I have to get clean. You don't have to watch. In fact I'd kind of prefer you didn't."

_Because I'm ugly._

It wasn't true, not really. Months later, and she still had thoughts like that from time to time. She wasn't particularly body-shy, but she knew she wasn't exactly the definition of beauty, either. Suddenly, being naked didn't sound like such a great idea. She ignored the misgivings that brought warmth to her cheeks, and strode purposefully into the water.

She decided not to voice the second half of that statement. Her therapist would be so proud.

She only had her hands to scrub with, and the water was frigid, not scalding hot like she preferred, but she managed to get the worst of the gore off of her face and arms, and out of her hair, and off of her legs, and everywhere even a little skin had shown itself.

After what felt like forever, she heard splashing behind her. Half-turning, she saw that Hadvar had decided that washing just his face and hands was enough.

"So, I didn't think this through," she admitted. "If I get into my armor now, it'll still end up wet."

He laughed slightly, looking at her – and then quickly looking away. "You could try that robe we found, instead?"

"It still smells like ..." She paused. "Right, washing." She waded to the shoreline. Opening the backpack, she found she had to empty it entirely to reach the hooded robe. The smell wasn't actually that bad, either. To her surprise, the potions had remained corked, so she didn't have a multicolored mess in there. Fantastic. She drew the robe out last.

It took quite a bit of work, but she got it as clean as she was going to get it. Holding it up to her nose, she could still, faintly, detect a whiff of _something,_ but she assured herself no one else would be able to smell it. Mostly, it smelled like water. After she was done, she stepped out of the water, drawing the soaking wet robe over her soaking wet body. All better. Hadvar still wasn't looking at her, though. "Done," she announced. There was no way the Imperial armor was fitting in the backpack, though she tucked the rest of her things back into their proper places. Strapping the rest of her gear to her body, she opted to carry the armor to Riverwood. Maybe she'd be able to pawn it?

"You know," Hadvar said abruptly. "I'm glad you decided to come with me."

She blinked. Well, that was sudden. "Thanks, I think?"

"No, really. It's … you're interesting."

She didn't really have a reply for that.


	6. Chapter 6: The People of Riverwood

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Six: The People of Riverwood_

By: N3k0

In which people chatter incessantly.

They made it to Riverwood shortly after that, walking at a somewhat more leisurely pace now that the town itself was in sight. It looked … peaceful. There was a a high wall, yes, but no one manned the walkway. Thatched buildings lined the road, and growing plants were everywhere. She saw signs hanging from some of the buildings – those would be shops, probably.

"Things look quiet enough here. Come on, there's my uncle." Hadvar broke into a tired-looking run, heading for the shop on the left, it looked like. She followed at a more sedate pace. She was worn out already. No point in making it worse.

A woman was shouting as she walked into town. "A dragon! I saw a dragon!"

"What is it now, mother?" A man in a yellowish shirt responded, sounding exasperated.

The woman pitched her voice deliberately so that everyone in town could hear her. "It was as big as the mountain and black as night! It flew right over the barrow!"

"Dragons now, is it?" He sighed. "Please, mother. If you keep going on like this, everyone in town will think you're crazy. And I've got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies." He walked away from his own mother, ignoring her. Mariah decided she didn't much care for yellow-shirt. Especially since his mother had the right of it, after all.

The old woman called after her son, hands on her hips. "You'll see! It was a dragon! It'll kill us all and then you'll believe me!"

Mariah walked up behind the woman, tapping her on the shoulder.

"What?"

She smiled. "I believe you, ma'am. I saw the dragon with my own eyes."

"Are you – are you making fun of me?"

She shook her head, feeling the smile fade somewhat. "Why would I – ?"

"Because I won't stand for it!" She folded her arms, sounding defensive.

Mariah held her hands up, placatingly. "I'm not making fun of you, I swear."

"You're not?"

She shook her head for emphasis. "I'm not."

There was a long pause.

"Your hair is blue."

A nod, this time, she let her hands fall to her sides. Damn, but she needed _pockets._ There was nothing to stuff her hands into. "I'm aware."

"Nobody will believe you, you know."

She tilted her head to the side. "I'm sure I can convince them." She stepped back. "Anyway, that's all I had to say." She gave a little half-bow, then turned to walk toward the shop. The sign depicted an anvil in an oversized horseshoe, wrought in iron. The blacksmith's place, which would belong to Hadvar's uncle. Both Hadvar and his uncle had already disappeared inside, so she knocked on the door.

A woman in a dress and apron opened it. "I'm sorry," she began, "But we're eating dinner. Can I help you, miss …?"

"Mariah. I'm Hadvar's friend." She smiled her most charming smile.

The woman looked to her right for a moment. Hadvar's voice, just loud enough for her to hear, said, "It's all right, she's the one I was telling you about."

"Well! Any friend of Hadvar's is welcome here. Come on in." The woman stepped to the side, and she walked into the cozy little room. The first thing she noticed was the furs, covering the wooden floor and walls. Part of her felt sad, because she knew real animals had died to make them, but part of her reveled in the feel of the warm fur between her still-damp toes. She had yet to put the ill-fitting boots back on. She felt a little guilty, dripping all over the rug, but she didn't have much choice in the matter.

A man in a red shirt spoke next, a smile on his face. "Come in, come in. Set that armor down, warm yourself by the fire." So, she did, setting the armor, and her backpack, by the door. She sat down by the fireplace, her back to the fire.

"You must be hungry." The woman smiled, looking between them. "Let me get you two something to eat." She walked over to the cooking pot as Hadvar took a seat at the table.

The man looked over at Hadvar. "Now, then, boy, what's the big mystery? What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?"

"I don't know where to start." Hadvar shook his head. "You know I was assigned to General Tullius's guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked … by a _dragon._"

The man – Hadvar's uncle – sounded incredulous. "A dragon? That's … ridiculous! You aren't drunk, are you boy?"

"Husband, let him tell his story," the woman protested.

Hadvar sighed. "Not much more to tell. This … dragon … flew over, and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I'd have made it myself, if not for my friend here."

"That's a little too generous. I didn't do much." She looked down and away, but she could feel it when all eyes fell on her. "Well, it's true. I'm no soldier, I barely held my own."

Hadvar shook his head. "What about the spiders, hm? Or when you killed that Stormcloak who got behind me, or the time you fought off two of them single-handedly? You did well, trust me." She felt herself blushing. She'd been lucky, that was all.

"Anyway, I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened. I was hoping, maybe, you could help us out? Food, supplies, a place to stay, that sort of thing?" Hadvar looked hopefully at his uncle. "Please?"

The man smiled. "Of course, any friend of yours is a friend of mine. I'm glad to help however I can." He turned to look at her, expression serious. "But, I need your help. _We_ need your help." Of course there was a catch. She wasn't really surprised, though – nor could she say she blamed him. He continued. "The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you'll do that for me, I'll be in your debt."

She was exhausted – whatever else, she wasn't making the trip tonight, certainly. "All right, but … how do I get to Whiterun from here?"

"Cross the river, and then head north. You'll see it, just past the falls."

She nodded. "Across the river, head north," she repeated. She had no idea which way north even was. She'd never learned that kind of skill, had never needed to. Hopefully there would be signs posted – and, hopefully, she'd be able to read them.

He nodded. "Now, when you get to Whiterun, just keep heading up. When you get to the top of the hill, you'll be at Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace."

"Okay ..." She considered for a second, then shrugged. She might as well ask it now. "So … a Jarl is some kind of a leader, right? What can you tell me about this Jarl?"

He looked at her for a second, a little confused. "Jarl Balgruuf? He rules Whiterun hold. He's a good man, perhaps over-cautious, but these are dangerous times. So far he's managed to stay out of the war, but that can't last."

"The war? With the Stormcloaks, then? Which side does he favor?"

He looked thoughtful. "I don't think the Jarl likes either Ulfric or Elisif much. Who can blame him? But I've no doubt he'll prove loyal to the Empire in the end. He's no traitor."

"Who's Elisif?" Another player, presumably the Empire's pick, but ….

Another _look. _As though he couldn't quite believe his ears. "Ah … you're new to Skyrim, then? Jarl Elisif, I should say, although only because she was married to Jarl Torygg when he was killed."

"Who's Jarl Torygg?" She looked at him, in return, confused.

The man sighed. "Torygg was the High King of Skyrim. Ulfric murdered Torygg, you know. Walked right into Solitude and killed him. Shouted him to death, if you believe the stories."

"Shouted? With some kind of magic?"

He nodded. "You could say that. They call it the Voice." The General had called it that, as well. So that was why they'd gagged Ulfric … "It's a power that only a select few can master, and they say that Ulfric Stormcloak is one of that few."

"Good to know." She decided it was time for a change in topic, then. "Is it all right if I stay here for the night? I don't think I can make the trip tonight."

He nodded. "Of course, of course. I need to get back to work – Sigrid will take care of you."

"Thanks."


	7. Chapter 7: Restful Sleep

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Seven: Restful Sleep_

By: N3k0

In which she goes to sleep.

She spent the next several hours – until well after dark – reading the spellbook by the firelight. She had been delighted to discover that she could read the strange language as well as she could understand it and speak it. She would have stayed up even later; after all, she was a night person. However, before long, she found herself yawning as the foreign letters blurred together in a jumble.

She couldn't wait to practice the principles she'd learned. The book had started off with a primer on destruction magic in general, before delving into the specifics.

Her mind was whirring as she finally set aside the book. She curled up in the bedroll Sigrid had set out for her by the fire and closed her eyes, but she knew she'd never get to sleep.

She opened her eyes, and she realized with some alarm that she was driving, had been driving, and the car jerked sharply to the right, swerving dangerously close to the blue pickup beside her. The owner of said pickup swerved to avoid her, honking loudly. She saw a middle finger go up in her direction, not that she could blame him.

_How had she gotten here?_

She overcompensated for her initial error, letting the vehicle pull to the left. Her tires rolled up onto the curb, and back off of it, thumping loudly both times, before she finally managed to steady the car. That would totally help the already-shot alignment, she was sure.

She clutched the wheel with both hands, pulling slightly to the right and staring at the stupid, cheesy, cheetah-print wheel-cover.

Okay, okay. She could handle this. She was driving to work. Mom wasn't in the car. She glanced to the right, confirming that yes, she'd bought burgers again, her guilty pleasure.

The dream had felt so real, she would swear she could still feel the warmth of the fire –

And, suddenly, she was back, opening her itchy, watery eyes. Feather pillow, of course she was allergic. She sneezed, then sneezed again, scrubbing at her face. She shoved the pillow away, under the bed next to her. Resting her head on her arms, she let her eyes drift shut again. She was exhausted.

She'd made it safely to work. She was walking in the front door when she dropped back in. She stumbled for a moment, pressing her palm to her face. Something was seriously wrong here.

Collecting herself, she pressed her badge against the electronic lock, letting herself into the building.

It was eerily normal. She passed someone she knew, waved a greeting. Her locker, number fifty-four, where she knelt, opened the lock, and deposited her phone. Everything in the locker was exactly where she remembered it, including the three boxes of energy bars from back when she was still eating those, and the instant rice dinner that had been in there for a week. Fortunately, neither item was particularly perishable. She rested her forehead against the cool, ridged metal of the locker above hers.

What was wrong with her?

She'd finally lost it. That was the only possible explanation. She'd gone completely and totally mad.

Well, at least it had been interesting so far ….

What had happened while she was 'gone,' though? She racked her brain, and found the information was just _there._ Eat, sleep, work, video games. She'd started up a new playthrough of _Vampire_ on a whim last night, after installing it on the new computer, and stayed up until four again.

More worrying, she still remembered the foreign tongue. Every detail about the other world still shone clear and bright in her mind.

She shook her head. She didn't have time to think about that, not if she wanted to get into work on time. Bad enough she'd nearly killed herself in the car earlier, but she couldn't afford to even be _late_ at this point, or they'd have grounds to fire her. It was just … her real life, her job, none of it interested her as much as her games.

She made the short trip to her mom's desk. It was relatively close to her own. She dropped off the two remaining burgers, then paused. Dream or not, it had felt pretty real. If she died – really died – what would happen to her mom? The thought unsettled her, and she hugged her mom tightly around the shoulders, resting her chin on her head. Suddenly, tears welled up, and she swallowed heavily, trying not to cry. She felt herself shaking. It was just too much.

Her mom hit the mute button on the phone, turning in her chair to look up at her. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, unable to speak at first. Pushing her glasses back up on her forehead, she rubbed at her eyes. "Nothing – it's nothing." She offered a watery smile, and her mom stood up, giving her a real hug. That was exactly what she needed. "I love you." She squeezed back. She sniffled, loudly, then pulled away. "I – I've got to get to my desk."

She sat down in her chair, stared at her computer, and wondered how the hell she was going to make it through the day.

She woke right as she was sitting down for the night to play; therefore, she woke disgruntled. It probably didn't help that she hadn't really expected to come back. Her other dreams abandoned her after a single night, so why should this one continue to invade her thoughts?

Still …

She looked up at the ceiling, thoughtfully. She could still see perfectly, that hadn't gone away. She reached up to feel at her eyes, but she knew she wouldn't find any contacts there. By now, they would have become dry and scratchy, and her eyes felt fine. She took stock of her situation, of how she was feeling. She'd missed three doses of her meds so far, and yet, nothing. No withdrawal symptoms, no crushing depressions, nothing.

She was worried, a little bit. Of course she was.

She was clearly going mad, and that generally wasn't a good thing. Popping back into the real world just reinforced the fact that this one was nothing more than a vivid hallucination. She felt her arms, wincing as she found the burns there. They'd been throbbing a little, but she'd been ignoring that.

So, the dream had a sense of continuity about it. Wonderful.

She sat up, looking around. The room was exactly as she remembered it, although the table had been cleaned off. It was some kind of one-room affair, with chairs, beds, a table, and a kitchen, all rolled up into one place. Very cozy, though.

She got out of the bedroll, which had, surprisingly, survived the night in one piece. Apparently she'd been too tired to really toss and turn as she normally did. That done, she carefully folded the blankets up. Fishing under the bed, she found the feather pillow. This, she set neatly atop the covers.

Her stomach growled loudly, neatly coinciding with Sigrid walking up the stairs from the basement. "Ah, you're finally awake."

She nodded. "I don't suppose you have anything for me to eat before I head out?" Standing, she smoothed out the rumpled robe she'd slept in. The wrinkles fell away, leaving it flawless. Like magic. She shook her head. Hopefully it had better enchantments than that. She'd take a wrinkly, stained, old robe, as long as it did something useful for her.

Ha. She was already getting used to the idea of magic, to the point where she was really thinking about how _useful_ an enchantment was. Apparently that was a side effect of playing video games so much ….

"Of course, of course. What did you want to eat?" Sigrid smiled warmly.

She thought for a moment. "Scrambled eggs? With, maybe, some cheese?"

A nod. Sigrid went about gathering the supplies to make the dish. Mariah sat down to continue reading her book. Apparently the idea was simple. That fizzy feeling, like carbonation in her veins, was magic. She had to draw that power out, while focusing on the idea of lightning. Other than that, it was supposed to be fairly basic. Point in the right direction, and let loose the power of the gods.

Setting the book aside, she looked down at her hands. Draw the power out – she wasn't sure how to do that. She focused on the fizzy feeling, imagined it flowing from her core into her hands. There came a tingle in her fingertips, and she focused on just a tiny seed of lightning, holding her hands slightly apart.

She thought she saw something flicker between them, a moment before Sigrid interrupted her meditation. "Breakfast is ready." The woman proceeded to set her plate on the table, a knife and an odd, two-pronged fork beside it. She also poured some kind of hot liquid into a mug, next to that. "I made you some tea, I hope that's all right. I imagine you _must_ be thirsty by now."

Mariah nodded, smiling warmly as she stood, walking to the table and sitting down again. She dug in, eagerly, finding herself famished. Her hunger made the rather average plate of eggs into a gourmet feast fit for a king – no, a Jarl, she reminded herself. If she was stuck here, she'd have to learn the slang. The tea was good, some kind of herbal mix with just a little honey in it. She debated on whether or not to drink it at first, but then, she didn't figure it likely she'd encounter Montezuma's Revenge when the water had obviously been boiled – at least, she hoped she wouldn't. She had no interest in any kind of stomach irritation on top of her other problems.

Besides, she reminded herself. It was a dream. People didn't get sick in dreams.

"We didn't think you'd ever wake up." Sigrid smiled, teasing. "How late were you up reading?"

She shook her head. "I don't really know, to be honest. The book is fascinating, though. Magic doesn't exist, where I'm from, so to see it discussed like a science is really interesting. It makes me feel like I could probably master it, even."

"Really? No magic, at all?" Sigrid looked curious. "I can't imagine that," she confessed.

She nodded. "I mean, we have stories about magic, monsters, and the like, but none of it's real. Right now there's this huge vampire craze going on. People think they're sexy, but … well. People aren't very smart, in general."

"There's been talk of vampire attacks lately," Sigrid said it grimly. "Young women with their throats ripped out, things like that. I doubt your people would find _that_ … 'sexy.'"

Another nod. "I know, I know. I wouldn't know what to do if I met one in real life, if I knew what it was, I mean. Probably, it'd try to eat me, and not in the good way, and then I'd have to try and kill it, and it just wouldn't go over well."

"They say," Sigrid said, her voice serious, "that if a vampire so much as scratches you, you'll turn into one, yourself."

She shook her head, this time. "See, and I don't buy that. It's probably some kind of blood-borne disease, since they're all about blood. I'd imagine you'd have to bite the vampire to catch vampirism." She grinned a bit at the irony. In Soviet Russia, you bite vampire.

"Well, that's beside the point anyway. There aren't any vampires in Riverwood."

Mariah nodded. "I'm sure you'd know if there were."

"Exactly."

After that, there wasn't much discussion left. She finished eating quickly. Finger-combing her hair, she managed to get it into some kind of order – probably, anyway. Sigrid loaned her a pair of shoes that fit much better than the oversized Imperial boots. Then, it was time to leave. She collected her things, heading out the door and to the right, where the forge was.

The men were talking about something or other, she didn't quite catch it, and they fell silent when she approached. Odd, but not worth worrying about.

"Hey, Alvor," she said with a slightly-uncertain smile. "I was wondering if I could sell you the armor I'd brought with me. I'm kind of new to Skyrim and I don't actually have any money. I figure I'm going to need some, for the road."

He nodded once. "I would have given you some gold to get started without the need for that, but I'll take the armor off of your hands if you're not going to use it, sure." He had her sit the armor down on a workbench nearby, then handed her a small coinpurse. Her loose gold went into the coinpurse, then the coinpurse went into her backpack.

"Thank you."

Hadvar walked over to her then, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, I'm going to lay up here for a while. You can make your own way to Solitude from here. After you meet up with the Jarl, hire the carriage to take you to north, all right?" She nodded.

"We'll see each other again soon." He smiled down at her. "Now, get going."

So, she did.


	8. Chapter 8: Death

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Eight: Death_

By: N3k0

In which the powers that be cheat.

The day had dawned gray – it started raining almost as soon as she got out from under the awning. She was glad she didn't have to wear glasses anymore; the rain couldn't blind her as easily. She crossed a very solid-looking stone bridge, and sure enough, there was a signpost. The sheer number of towns listed was a little overwhelming, but she was surprised to realize she recognized most of them. Helgen – where she'd almost gotten executed. Riverwood, where she'd been staying. Windhelm, that was where Jarl Ulfric was from, Whiterun, her destination, and Solitude, where she was headed next.

So, she followed the cobbled road in the direction the sign pointed her. A sheer cliff ran on her left, the river on her right. Trees and other, smaller plants lined the path. Every so often, she passed a lamppost. Despite the rain, she felt as though this would be a good day. At the very least, it couldn't be as bad as yesterday.

Two wolves lunged out of the brush. One of them growled at her, the other lunged for her throat. Everything went dark ….

She was standing outside of Alvor's house again. The men were talking again, but she couldn't hear them over the rain that had just begun falling.

She felt like she'd missed something, something important.

But then, she got that feeling a lot. She ignored it, and began walking.

The scenery was beautiful, but something was amiss. She felt … on edge. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she edged closer to the cliff face, moving slowly and quietly.

When the wolves howled, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

That was it. That was what the sense of danger was about. Well … she was fairly certain she could handle a pair – it sounded like a pair – of overgrown dogs. Drawing one of the broadswords, she held her left hand ready. Magic tingled in her fingertips, pouring down her arm. She looked down, and was rewarded with the sight of thin, faint sparks jumping between them.

Perfect.

The cliff face gave way to lower ground, and the beginnings of a forest. One of the wolves jumped out at her. It grabbed her left wrist in its powerful jaws, and the magic died before she could use it. Instead, she drove her sword into its throat. It let go, whining loudly. She ripped the blade free, blood spurting all over her, and it fell to the ground, bleeding out. She shook her head. Senseless beast. From everything she'd read, wolves generally avoided humans. People standing on their hind legs was supposed to be an intimidating sight for the animals.

Well, she'd tell the author of that particular bit of falsehood to go fuck himself. Looking around, she failed to spot the other wolf she'd heard. Maybe it had run off. She wasn't going to question her luck, that was for damned sure. She continued on, hurrying past that patch of forest and down the winding road until, in the distance, the city came into view. It was impressive, rising up above the landscape around it, _dominating_ the landscape around it. That could only be Whiterun; she'd just passed a roaring waterfall, and she was supposed to be able to see it from that point.

Well then.

She set off purposefully down the road, lengthening her strides. She couldn't run for shit, but she could certainly manage a swift walk. The sooner she made it to Whiterun, the better for everyone.

She passed by a large, businesslike building. The sign read "Honningbrew Meadery," and the place smelled, even from a distance, a bit like alcohol. Not someplace she figured she'd ever need to be; although she'd always been a little curious as to what mead tasted like, she could smell alcohol on pretty much anything, and it wasn't a smell she much cared for.

She continued walking, though she did eventually have to slow her pace. She was a bit out of breath already. Pausing beside a lamp-post, not that it provided any shelter whatsoever from the rain, she looked around, frowning as she spotted a faint glow in the river.

Curious, she went to check it out. She discovered it to be a small, leafy plant, and she could hear an odd, high, ringing in her ears that only grew louder as she neared it.

Huh. Must be magic. She carefully pulled it out of the ground, finding the task surprisingly easy, but then, it was the soft mud of a riverbank, not the hard dirt she was used to. She took the plant, roots and all, and carefully deposited it in her backpack. The chiming continued at a low rate from inside her backpack. That … could get annoying.

Quickly.

She hurried on her way, past a horse-drawn carriage and a stable. She saw a tent – or at least, she thought it was a tent – made entirely of chopped up animal hides. Curious, she went to investigate; it was only a little out of her way, after all.

"Between the war and the return of the dragons," a soft, rolling voice murmured, "I wonder if we should not leave Skyrim, and ply our trade elsewhere."

Another voice answered. "I admit, the dragons are a concern, but we can avoid them if we do not stay in one place for too long."

"That may be, but what of the war?" The first voice countered. "That is not so easy to escape from."

Surprise tinted the second voice. "The war? That is not a reason to leave, it is a reason to stay."

"And what makes you think _that?_"

The second voice responded in the kind of tone one reserved for a slow child. "Because war is good for business, of course."

She'd been keeping her head low, the hood of her robe hanging in her face, to try and avoid getting rain in her eyes as much as possible, so when she approached the tent, she didn't immediately look up. When she did, she stood staring for a moment, the words snatched from her throat. A figure had emerged from the tent, only it wasn't human. A cat. It looked kind of like a cat, covered entirely in fur, but standing on two legs. Okay, she could handle that. She'd never seen a fursuit in real life before, but she knew the dimensions for the head piece were much larger than the feline's head, so whatever the creature was, it appeared to be the real deal.

"Well?" It asked. "Are you going to make a purchase, or does Khajiit return inside where it is warm, and not so wet?"

She continued to stare for a moment, before shaking her head to clear it.

"Sorry – I – sorry. Is Khajiit your name?" Not the brightest question she could have asked, but he sounded like a third-person person. Obviously, he was referring to himself, but ….

The cat looked at her. He just looked at her, as though she were an idiot, and she felt small.

"Ri'saad is _a_ Khajiit. We are all Khajiit, just as you are human. Have you never seen a Khajiit before?" She glanced over at the other people in the camp. One was chopping firewood, his long, soaking-wet tail swishing. Two were talking by a large, sputtering bonfire. One of them appeared to be a female, though Mariah noted dully that she only appeared to have two breasts.

She shook her head. "Never. Where I come from, your people don't exist," she explained. "It's good to meet you. You said something about a purchase … ?" She asked, hesitantly.

The cat's smile shone mostly in his eyes, though his whiskers twitched and his lips curled ever so slightly. "Of course, of course. Khajiit has goods from all over Skyrim, all over Tamriel. Take a look!" He ushered her into the tent, which was lined with tables filled with all kinds of goods, though none that were particularly exotic to her tastes. Her hand was drawn to one in particular, though, a sword that seemed to call out to her to handle it. She drew it from its sheath, inspecting the metal. It wasn't particularly ornate, but it was … well-made, she decided. And there was a shimmer to it, something that was hard to define.

"Ah, the human is a mage. Ri'saad thought as much, from the robes. That is a sword of souls. If you have free a soul gem, the sword will capture the soul of any creature you slay." She looked at it in wonder, then sheathed it.

She shook her head, sadly. "I doubt I can afford it. Alvor only gave me a little money for the road," she explained.

"Ah, a traveler. Perhaps this one would be interested in more practical things?"

She set the sword aside, looking over at him as he shuffled around some items on another table.

"Ri'saad has many things for the traveler, yes?"

Ultimately, she didn't end up purchasing anything, once again pleading her hardship, but she promised to come back when she had more gold to spend.

The cat seemed to be content with that, and she continued on her way.

Men in uniform manned tall, wooden guard posts, looking down at her as she passed.

From a distance, the city had looked fine. Up close, she noted that the stone walls appeared to be crumbling, and the wooden parts looked rather rickety. She was pretty sure she wouldn't be willing to trust her life to either one, especially since she was relatively overweight. Of course she didn't _look_ it; she had a rather large frame. Nevertheless, she suspected she was more than a match for the thin wooden planks that had clearly seen the worst Mother Nature had to throw at them.

One of the uniformed guards approached her as she approached the front gate. "Halt," he said, very officiously. She didn't much care for his tone, the way he looked down at her. "City's closed with dragon's about. Official business only."

"Alvor sent me," she explained. "Riverwood's in danger."

His eyes widened beneath the mask. "Riverwood, too? You'd best go on inside. You'll find the Jarl up in Dragonsreach." He opened the gate for her, ushering her inside.


	9. Chapter 9: Whiterun

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Nine: Whiterun_

By: N3k0

In which water runs downhill.

She walked into the city, looking around. She smelled the tang of hot metal in the air; to the right, she saw a smithy.

"I just can't fill an order of that size on my own!" A woman's voice protested. The voice, unsurprisingly, belonged to a female. She wore a heavy leather apron over a dress – why was it every woman wore a dress? She promised herself then that she would avoid the damn things at all costs. "Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Gray-Mane for help?"

Mariah didn't catch the rest of the conversation, though; she was already on her way uphill, past the smithy.

The rain finally abated as she passed a sign that read it belonged to the "Drunken Huntsman." She was still soaking wet, but at least now there was a chance she'd dry off. Damn, but she was already getting chilly. She'd have to warm herself, and dry off, by a fire.

The high pitched ringing was not going away. Picking that plant felt more and more like a bad idea.

Her legs did not appreciate being forced uphill after her earlier pace. She thought happy thoughts at them, as she had on excessively long walks in the past. Picturing a well of green energy at her core, she let that power trickle down into her legs, soothing the pain. Meditating that way had always eventually worked, but this time, it worked almost instantly. She blinked, blinked again. Hu-uh. She knelt in the middle of the market square, feeling the hard calf muscles. No pain. That was a relief, but ….

It was strange.

She felt the burns on her arms with her fingertips. Willing that same power towards her arms, she felt the throbbing pain dissipate.

She marveled at her hands. Mind over matter?

No.

Magic. Magic over matter.

A soft grin lit her face. She continued up a long, open stairway towards Dragonsreach.

A large, dead tree dominated the next tier of the city. She walked up to it, resting her hand on its smooth bark, sadly. She liked nature.

"I know your family's honor is important to you, but we can't afford it!" A woman's voice spoke up behind her, and she turned to look at the speaker. She had crossed a small bridge to get to the tree. Another such bridge seemed to lead towards a residential area, across which two … well, they wouldn't be African-American, or even African, because neither Africa, nor America, existed in … what had the Khajiit called it? Tamriel?

Regardless, two brown-skinned people (Gods all forbid she call them 'black'), were talking. The woman had her arms folded.

The man responded, clearly frustrated. "It took me weeks to find that thieves' den! I can't stop now, and I can't get the sword on my own!"

"So you're willing to starve your wife and daughter to reclaim some rusty old sword?" She didn't sound impressed.

He shook his head, hands outstretched. "I just need to hire one, maybe two good men. You won't starve!"

"I'll put it plainly. You can claim your sword, or you can keep your wife," she said, harshly. "If you set foot outside the gate, I won't be here when you return."

The man walked a few steps towards the woman. "Saffir! Wait! I …."

She leaned on the railing. It wasn't her business, but … no. She wasn't some kind of hero, she didn't know the man, it didn't make sense to –

He walked towards her, sighing, dejectedly. Without seeing her, he nearly tripped over her. "Oh – ah, I'm sorry. Did you hear that?"

She nodded quietly. "You were arguing."

He shook his head slightly. "My Saffir doesn't like that I've been spending so much time looking for my father's sword. He fed his whole family with the money he made using that weapon! I'm not going to let it gather dust in some thief's trophy room!"

She frowned slightly. "Do you need help finding the sword?"

"I tracked it to a group of bandits nearby. But I'm no fool. I'd need the Whiterun guard, or maybe the Companions to get it." He looked her over. "I don't know why I'm saying this, but … if you find it out in your travels, I'd be grateful."

She tilted her head. "Where did you say it was?"

"A little cave, not far from here. It's called 'Redoran's Retreat,' and it's filled to the brim with bandits. If you go there, _be careful._ I don't want your blood on my hands."

She smiled, a little uncertainly. "I'm not sure I'm the one you want," she admitted. "I'm no kind of warrior … If I do find it, I'll bring it back, though."

He nodded. "That's all the more I can really ask for." He continued on his way, and she on hers.

She passed the tree, and a small hand tugged at her still-damp sleeve. "Lady – could you spare a coin?"

She frowned slightly, looking down.

It was a girl, a small child, really, with short-cropped brown hair. She was wearing a dirty, green skirt, with a poorly-mended rip in it. Shaking her head, Mariah shifted her backpack around, sliding it off her shoulders. That done, she fished around in it until she found the coinpurse. "Why are you begging?" She asked it conversationally.

"It's … it's what Brenuin said I should do. He's the only one who's been nice to me since mama … since she died. My aunt and uncle took over the farm, and they threw me out. Said I wasn't good for anything." She felt the frown deepen. That wasn't right … that wasn't the kind of thing anyone should say to a child. "I wound up here," the girl continued. "But I … I don't know what to do. I miss her so much …."

She really didn't have much money, herself, but she counted out five coins, and handed them to the girl. "Here. It isn't much, but I hope it'll do."

The girl's eyes widened, and she threw her arms around Mariah in a hug. "You're the best!" Pulling away, the girl looked up at her, seriously. "Could you be my mama?"

Looking down into those wide, innocent eyes, she swallowed heavily. She had to force herself to shake her head, quietly. "I'm sorry … I don't have anyplace for you to live." Would Alvor be willing …? He was a blacksmith; surely he could afford to feed one extra mouth? She'd have to ask, after she returned to Riverwood. She just couldn't let the poor girl starve. "If I get more money, I'll make sure you get some of it, okay?"

"I … okay." The girl sounded slightly disappointed.

She smiled, encouragingly, reaching out to pat the girl's shoulder. "Now … I've got to go talk to the Jarl, but afterward, I'll come see you again, all right? I'll be at the big old dead tree, and we can talk some more."

"Okay!" The girl brightened considerably at that. "Thanks again."

She nodded, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. "No problem."

The staircase up to Dragonsreach was a long one. It passed a large waterfall – in fact, the entire city seemed to be decorated with channels for waterways. It was pretty.

Eventually, she managed to ascend to the top of the staircase, huffing and puffing. She felt like she was going to fall flat on her face.

Ugh.

She trudged across the latest in a series of bridges, to a massive set of double doors. Opening them, she stepped inside.

Dragonsreach was impressive. From the outside, it had been a massive castle.

From the inside, it was a massive castle with a tall, arched roof, supported by pillars carved with intricate designs that resembled Celtic knotwork. A long, patterned rug led from the entryway to another set of stairs. She looked up – and up. Light poured in through a massive, circular window. Two chandeliers hung from central arches. She suspected these would light the keep at night, but how anyone lit them was a mystery for the ages. Maybe magic. She actually kind of hoped it was magic.

A man's voice echoed from the far end of the keep while she stood, hands on her thighs, trying to catch her breath. "– there's no telling … my lord, please …."

Her lungs slowly stopped burning. She looked over, to see a woman with a broom looking at her oddly. "Your hair," she explained. "It's blue."

"I'm aware."

She set off towards the far end of the throne room. At least she'd dried some on the long, mostly-vertical walk; she wasn't dripping all over the fine carpets.

"What would you have me do then?" A man's heavily-accented voice demanded, echoing from the walls. "Nothing?"

Another responded, sounding worried. "My lord, please. This is no time for rash action …."

As she walked up the stairs, she saw a woman coming towards her. The woman's skin was ashy-gray, she noticed that much first, along with the severe, angular features. She was a redhead, with brilliant crimson eyes, and under all that hair, Mariah noticed pointed ears. That would be an elf, then. She tried not to stare.

The woman also had a sword drawn, and it was pointed at her. "What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."

Oh good, she was in the right place after all.

"Alvor sent me," she explained once more. "Riverwood is in danger."

The woman frowned, eyes narrowed. "As housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers that threaten the Jarl or his people, so you have my attention. Now, explain yourself."

"A dragon has destroyed Helgen, and last I saw? It was heading this way."

The woman's eyes widened, then, she took a sharp breath. "You know about Helgen? The Jarl will want to speak to you personally. Approach."

So she did, walking down a large banqueting hall that was lined with tables. A massive firepit sat at the center of the hall, warming it with an open bonfire.

She couldn't imagine that passing a the fire safety inspection. The floors were _wooden._ Still, the heat was nice, and the firepit was lined with stone. It would probably be all right, although she would still not be surprised to hear the whole keep burned down in the night.

All of this helped to distract her as she walked up to meet with Whiterun's most important man.


	10. Chapter 10: Jarl Balgruuf

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Ten: Jarl Balgruuf_

By: N3k0

In which an adventuring career is started by accident.

The man was blond. He wore a circlet that, taken together with his rich, yet practical clothing, served as a reminder of his power. He sat in a rather plain chair, carved with simple decorations; if she hadn't known he was the Jarl, and if it had occupied any other space than the raised dais it rested upon, she might not have guessed it to be a small throne.

The dark-skinned elf spoke a handful of words to the Jarl. He sat up straighter, his eyes fixing on Mariah. Once again, she felt small.

His voice, she imagined, would carry throughout his throne room. She knew he was addressing her directly, although she herself had lost the ability to look up at him. "So," he began, "you were at Helgen? You saw this ... dragon … with your own eyes?"

"The Imperials were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak for his treason," she said cautiously, peeking up at him. A part of her wished suddenly that she had bangs to hide her face. She left out the part where she had actually been next for the block; he didn't need to know that, and it wouldn't help her standing. "Then, the dragon attacked. It destroyed the whole town in minutes, at most."

He shook his head. "Hnh. I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this." He turned his attention to the man on his right, then. "What do you say now, Proventus? Should we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?" Having seen the walls herself, Mariah knew that she wouldn't trust in their protection.

"My lord," the 'housecarl' (whatever that was) began, "we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains …."

The fancy-robed man on the Balgruuf's right protested this course of action in a rather whiny tone. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him! We should not – "

"Enough!" the Jarl snapped. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" He turned his attention to the elf. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

She put her hand to her chest in an odd sort of salute. "Yes, my Jarl." The elf walked off, then, presumably to attend to that detail.

"If you'll excuse me," Proventus said with some resignation, "I'll return to my duties."

The Jarl returned his attention to the man. "That would be best." Proventus, too, went on his way.

"Well done," the Jarl said, and she felt his eyes on her again. She glanced up, to see him smiling at her. The smile made him look surprisingly handsome. "You sought me out, on your own initiative."

She opened her mouth to speak, to protest that she was only following directions. He waved his hand. "You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it." He beckoned a servant over, murmuring a couple of words to the man, who trotted off promptly. "There must be something suitable for a wizard in my armory; I've instructed him to find something for you. A gift, for your service."

The Jarl seemed to be considering something, then. She waited; whatever it was, he'd get to it, or not, in his own time. "There is another thing you could do for me," he said, finally. "I believe it will be … suitable … for someone of your particular talents, perhaps." He stood, then. "Come." He began walking, so she followed. "Let us find my court wizard, Farengar. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons, and rumors of dragons."

He led her to a room just off the side of the throne room. It smelled a bit of lavender, and something else she couldn't identify. Inside, a hooded, robed man was laboring over a circular table with various glass beakers and vials that bubbled with greenish goop.

"Farengar," the Jarl began. "I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in with all the details."

"Of course, Jarl Balgruuf," the man replied. "She looks … capable, at least."

The Jarl turned his attention to her once more. "Succeed at this, and you will be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt." Well hell. So now she was some kind of adventurer, apparently. At least, as far as the Jarl of Whiterun was concerned; who was she to argue? Especially since, while she stood there in confusion, he began to walk off, no doubt headed back to his own duties.

"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?" Farengar asked, dragging her attention back to him. "Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me." He tapped his chin, thoughtfully, as he looked her over. "Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may, or may not, actually be there."

She tilted her head to the side. "Okay, I'll bite. What does this tablet have to do with dragons?"

"Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker – perhaps even a scholar?" He smiled warmly at her, then continued. "You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities." He shook his head, disgusted. "One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside of his experience as impossible. _I _began to search for information about dragons. Where had they gone, all those years ago? And, where were they coming from now?"

"And this tablet has something to do with the dragons?"

He nodded. "Right. I learned of this stone tablet, a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. It's supposed to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow. So, what I need for you to do, is to go to Bleak Falls Barrow. Once there, I want you to find the Dragonstone, no doubt interred in the main chamber, and bring it back to me. Simplicity itself."

"Is there anything you can tell me about Bleak Falls Barrow?" Since it was supposed to be a dangerous ruin, she thought it would be best to be forewarned.

Another nod. "It's an old tomb, built by the ancient nords. They were master craftsmen. Apparently, many of the traps that protect their burial sites remain functional to this day. Did you need directions?"

"I'm sure someone in Riverwood can point me in the right direction." She smiled, shaking her head. "I'm curious, though. How do you know this stone tablet is in Bleak Falls Barrow?"

He looked slightly guilty, muttering. "Well, must preserve some professional secrets, mustn't we? I have my sources. _Reliable_ sources."

She looked him over. He was supposed to be the court wizard, right? He'd know the answer to her biggest question, she was sure. "Where can _I_ learn more about magic?"

"A prospective student, are you?" He took in the robe she wore, apparently seeing it for the first time. "Well, I'm afraid I'm not much good at teaching. You should try your luck at the college of Winterhold."

"Okay … Where is Winterhold, from here?"

He pointed to the map that took up a large chunk of his study. "It's far to the northeast. If you're headed up that way, pack some warm clothing. The cold has been known to kill people."

"Do you have any old spellbooks, maybe? I just want to learn."

He looked at her, thoughtfully. "Well, I have a bit of a library. I'd be willing to part with some choice spellbooks, if you have the coin to cover their cost."

She bit her lip. "I don't think … I've only got a hundred or so gold pieces."

"Ah. Well … I do have one book you could have. I'm not going to get any more use out of it, you might as well take it. It's pretty basic; just a cantrip to call fire, really." She looked up at him, hopefully. "Yes, I could part with that for no charge."

She smiled brightly up at him, and he ducked his head, looking rather embarrassed. He shuffled off into a side room, returning with a dog-eared book with a picture of a flaming hand on the front.

"Here you go."

She took it in both hands, looking down at it in wonder. Hugging it to her chest, she looked up at him again. "Thank you."

"Now, off to Bleak Falls Barrow with you. The Jarl is not a patient man."

She headed out of Dragonsreach then, noting absently that the downhill was significantly easier than the uphill. Humming to herself, she opened one of the big doors, and walked out into the cool night air.

She all but skipped down the hill, finding herself at the big tree again. The girl was there, waiting. "You came!" She smiled brightly. "I didn't think you would, but you came back!"

"Well, I promised, didn't I?" She smiled, in return. "So, what's your name, anyway?"

"Lucia, ma'am."

She grinned softly. "Lucia Ma'am, hm? That's an odd last name you've got there."

The girl giggled, in return.

"No, but seriously, don't call me 'ma'am.' It makes me feel old." She continued to smile.

Lucia tilted her head to the side. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-two. I'll be twenty-three in August." Assuming, of course, that she lived until August, anyway. She sighed softly.

The girl blinked, looking at her oddly. "August?"

"... Right. Just … sometime in the summer." She shook her head. Even the months were different? _Really?_ And whatever power let her talk Skyrim-ish, didn't conveniently translate her meaning? Bah.

Lucia nodded. "Okay. So … what's your name?"

"Mariah."

She smiled again. "That's a pretty name."

"People seem to think so, yes. They call the wind Mariah, did you know that?" Technically, that was a 'fact' made up by a songwriter, as near as she could tell, but really, who was going to tell a little girl from Skyrim that an American songwriter lied to make his song pretty?

The girl sat back down on the bench, kicking her feet a little. "Really? Who calls it that?"

"People do. Back where I'm from, I mean."

She tilted her head to the other side. "Where are you from?"

"It's called America," she explained. "You won't have heard of it."

The girl looked thoughtful. "Okay."

She found herself yawning – it had been an eventful day! – and looked down at the girl. "Do you know where I can sleep for the night?"

"That's easy. There's a big inn called the Bannered Mare down a ways from here. Miss Hulda lets me sleep by the fire, sometimes. She's really nice."

Another yawn, she covered her mouth with her free hand. "Show me?"

The girl stood, taking her hand, and together, they walked to the inn.


	11. Chapter 11: Workhorse

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Eleven: Workhorse_

By: N3k0

In which she doesn't get to quit her day job.

"Come on in," a woman called, as Lucia led her into the Bannered Mare.

She took a moment to let her eyes adjust, as Lucia walked ahead. The girl disappeared into a side room, humming quietly to herself.

The place was cozy, lit and warmed by a large, open firepit in the middle. Patrons sat around the fire, or at barstools by the bar, or at the various tables. She walked up to the bar. "How much does it cost to rent a room?"

"A room? Well, I have one available. One hundred Septims for a night."

She balked a little. Okay, she had guessed a hundred gold wouldn't equal much, but still … "And how much for a meal?"

"Well, I've put some stew on. It'll be about forty Septims for a bowl."

That … that was her entire budget. She winced slightly, sighed. Reluctantly, she shrugged her backpack off, producing the coinpurse. She handed over the entire thing, minus a whopping nine gold pieces.

Ouch.

"I'll show you to your room. Right this way." The woman walked away from the counter, headed toward the back of the building, and she found herself facing her first moral dilemma. The counter was completely unguarded, no one was looking, she could easily take whatever she wanted, provided she could pocket it fast enough.

But no. She wasn't any kind of criminal, really. She turned to follow Hulda.

They passed through the kitchen and up a narrow stairway, to a small room that was decorated with various wall hangings. It was lit with a small plateful of candles; they provided just enough light to see by. The woman gestured for her to enter the room. "I'll bring the soup up when it's ready, then … ?"

"That'll be great." She smiled at the innkeeper, feeling exhausted.

Despite how tired she was, she still stayed up an hour or two, devouring the book about fire magic as quickly as she'd studied the book on lightning. Somewhere in there, Hulda brought up the soup, and sometime after that, she ate the soup, but she honestly couldn't have commented on its flavor; she was completely enthralled with her reading.

When she was sure she'd be able to work the spell, even going so far as to conjure tiny flamelets in the palm of her hand, she set the book aside and blew out the candles.

Her head hit the pillow …

… and she felt her mind grind to a halt. She was staring at her computer screen, her mouth open. She had been in the middle of a sentence, she knew she had, but she didn't know what she was saying. Frantically, she clicked through the customer's account, trying to figure out what exactly they'd been doing. She usually took her notes after the call, and that habit did _not_ help her now.

She stumbled awkwardly through the rest of the call, then went to break half an hour early. She hid in the bathroom, holding her head in her hands.

This, she decided, was _all kinds _of not fair.

Bad enough she'd been dropped into another world, with another language, foreign customs, strange people, and _magic,_ but no, she still got to keep her day job, too.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Her short breakdown done, she returned to her desk sitting heavily. She stared at the ceiling for a little bit, then glanced down at the phone's clock.

Back to work.

She answered a handful of calls, doing her best to help her customers. She was good at what she did, and what she did was talk to angry people about their money. It was easy for her; talking to people always had been. It was actually almost a relief to be able to do something so utterly _normal._ She got to talk about the weather, how their kids were doing, how their lives were going, and she could just completely ignore her own slipping sanity.

Most importantly, she decided, nobody really expected her to go die for them.

That was certainly a plus.

She made it through the day, making small talk with her coworkers between calls. When lunchtime came around, she got up again, headed over to her mom's desk, and gave her a hug. She didn't do that enough, she decided. It was comforting to be able to do so.

Then, she ate her lunch, then, she returned to her desk.

For medical reasons, she had been limited to six hour days for a while now, and although she had been so sure she was getting better, she _wasn't_ sure she was ready to return to a forty-hour work week yet, especially not now that she was finally losing her sanity completely. In practical terms, her reduced hours meant that she got out of work a couple of hours after lunch, with no final break.

This was fine with her.

She kept waiting for the return trip, and that put her on edge for the rest of the night. She sat down to play more _Vampire,_ and nothing happened. She finished up the creepy-ass haunted hotel quest, and nothing happened. She laid down to sleep, and nothing happened.

Her hand drove the sword up and into the man's back, and oh, gods, his blood was all over her arms. She dropped her weapon, and he flopped to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut. She smelled blood and worse. As she froze, another man cut her in half.

But she felt no pain.

A pair of wolves backed her into the cliff face, and she froze.

One wolf pinned her to the ground, ripping her throat out, while the other tore her robe open, its teeth ripping into her stomach. She didn't feel a thing. Staring glassy eyed off into the distance, all she could hear was the cheerful burbling of the nearby river.

The headsman's axe went up; the headsman's axe came down. Her head fell free of her body, and the world spun around as she landed on the ground beside the box. All around, she saw flames and carnage, but she could do nothing about it, because her body was over _there._

She fell from the tower, and her legs snapped like little twigs when she landed on the hard ground below. She could see bone poking from her thigh, her shin. She tried to move, but she couldn't. She tried to scream for help, but all that escaped her was a low moan of pain. Eventually, she succumbed, dying in a pool of her own blood as the whole world went dark.

The dragon was terrifying. It's face alone took up her entire field of view; she could see nothing but black scales, black horns, and the malevolent red eyes that stared her down.

_Found you._

She shot awake, tumbling awkwardly out of the bed. For a moment, she had no idea where she was. Everything was dark, though, and the floor was a woven rug over hardwood flooring. That suggested _not her room._

Dammit.

She heard voices downstairs, but she couldn't make out what any of them were saying, nor did she care to. She curled up on the floor.

What the hell kind of dream was that, even?

Generally, she dreamed of grand adventures and saving the world. Her worst nightmares generally involved being naked in awkward places, and that was only uncomfortable, not … not whatever the hell that had been.

_A warning._

That was what it was. What would happen if she did nothing, what would happen if she failed.

Cheery.

The last face though … the dragon.

That? That was her enemy.

She shook her head, almost laughing at herself. Like she was going to save the world from a dragon. Like there was any way in hell she could even begin to fight a dragon!

Ha.

She'd leave that to the guards and soldiers. All she had to do was go fetch a tablet from a tomb. She'd keep her eyes open, avoid any traps, and get rewarded handsomely for her troubles.

Hopefully, "handsomely" would cover more than a single night's stay at the inn!

She got up, smoothing out the oddly wrinkle-proof robe. She pulled her shoes back on, wriggling her toes in them.

Her stomach growled at her, but she couldn't do much about that. She headed downstairs to the inn proper, streeeetching and yawning sleepily. She noted that she back room was largely unguarded. She suspected no one would even notice if she stole pretty much anything for … quite a while. Looking around guiltily, she swiped some kind of sweet roll with icing on top.

It wasn't like anyone would miss it, she was sure. And after she'd gotten gouged by the innkeeper for basically her entire budget, she didn't feel guilty in the slightest.

Well, maybe she felt a little guilty.

The roll probably wouldn't do her diet any good.


	12. Chapter 12: Bandits

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Twelve: Bandits_

By: N3k0

In which she finally ditches the Nirnroot.

Walking outside, she realized the reason she hadn't seen anyone on her way out of the inn was that it was still the early hours of the morning.

Also? It was raining again.

She grumbled a little bit, then pulled the hood up over her head again.

She made her way down the massive hill that Whiterun had been built upon, noting absently that her legs ached from all the walking she'd done the day before. She sent a wave of soothing, mint-green energy down through her body, and was rewarded with a cessation of pain.

Good times.

She passed the housecarl and three guards talking in quiet tones. The men seemed to be arguing a bit – they didn't want to face off against a dragon alone, but then, no one sane would – while the housecarl assured them that they wouldn't have to. After all, their job was mostly to keep the townsfolk safe. No one expected them to take out a dragon on their own.

Why there hadn't been guards posted in Riverwood before was a mystery for the ages, she was sure.

She headed out the massive gates as the rain abated. Heat lightning still hung overhead, thunder following, and thick clouds obscured the sun as it began to peek up over the misty mountains.

The trip back to Riverwood was largely uneventful. She passed a black man who was burdened by supplies. He told her that he was on his way to Windhelm to join up with the Stormcloaks. She shook her head as she passed him. She didn't know which side to support in the war – she simply did not have enough information to make a decision – but from what she could tell, the Stormcloaks were the instigators, here. She wasn't sure she wanted to pick the side that started the fight.

The stupid plant was still making noise in her backpack, though the noise had grown faint enough she was sure she was the only one who could hear it. She decided she'd have to get rid of it – maybe it was valuable to someone?

So, passing a couple of children who were playing tag, she headed towards the building that proclaimed itself to be the "Riverwood Trader." Its sign was a set of scales.

"Well, one of us has to do something!" A woman's voice announced as she pushed open the door.

The man behind the counter placed both hands on it, leaning forward. "I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief chasing!"

"Well what are you going to do then, huh? Let's hear it!" The woman sounded upset.

"We are done talking about this." His gaze slid towards Mariah. "Oh – ahem – a customer. Sorry you had to hear that ..."

She smiled. "It's all right. What were you two arguing about, if I may?" She walked up to the counter.

"Oh, we had a bit of a – ah – a break-in. But we still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing." He sighed. "It was an ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon's claw."

She considered. "If I help you get that claw back, would there be money in it for me?" Sure, she had a mission to complete, but she had also discovered a powerful need to eat, drink, and sleep. Strange how those things became a priority when they were no longer a sure bet.

"I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment," he said. "It's yours if you bring my claw back."

She nodded. "All right, I'm in."

"Now if you're going to get those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town." Oh, wasn't that convenient.

The woman folded her arms, sounding unimpressed. "So this is your plan, Lucan?"

"Yes," he said smugly. "So now you don't have to go, do you?"

She looked Mariah over, appraisingly. "Well, I think your new helper here needs a guide."

"Wh – no I – oh, by the Eight, _fine,_ but only to the edge of town!"

The woman sighed, heading for the door.

"Only to the edge of town, you hear me?"

The woman turned back, one hand on her hip, the other on the doorknob. "I heard you."

"Good."

Mariah decided she should probably speak up about the plant now, or forever hold her peace. "Before I go – I did want to do a little business. You see, I found this plant …."

"A plant, hm? Do you know what kind?"

She shook her head. "I was actually kind of hoping you could tell me." She shifted her backpack around, setting it on the counter. She produced the slightly-crushed plant from the bag. It still glowed, ever so faintly, and the chiming was somewhat louder outside of her backpack.

"That's a Nirnroot," he said. "Yes – I could part with a few gold for that." He counted out a small handful of gold pieces, pushed them towards her. She took them, handing over the plant. "Tell you what, you find any other interesting herbs, bring them to me. I'll give you a fair price."

She smiled brightly. "Thanks. I'm new to Skyrim, and I don't really have a lot of money."

"Ah, well. You seem like a good kid, I'm sure you'll figure something out. Now shoo, off to Bleak Falls Barrow with you."

Nodding at him, she headed out of the shop. She decided not to mention that she was already headed that way for her own reasons. Why ruin a good thing? As far as he was concerned, she was delving into a dangerous ruin to fight off bandits – why had Farengar not mentioned the bandits? – just for his claw.

She wouldn't spoil that for him.

"We have to go through town and across the bridge to get to Bleak Falls Barrow. You can see it from here, though – it's the mountain just over the buildings." She began walking towards the bridge. "Those thieves must be mad, hiding out there. Those old crypts are filled with nothing but traps, trolls, and who knows what else!" Trolls? Well, all trolls are different. Maybe they'd be friendly, with Jamaican accents and blue-green skin? She could only hope for such luck.

The woman sounded thoughtful as she continued speaking, heedless of Mariah's odd train of thought. "I wonder why they only stole my brother's golden claw. I mean, we have plenty of things in the shop worth just as much coin."

"Where did he get the claw from, anyway?"

She looked back at Mariah. "Lucan found the claw about a year after he opened the store. He never quite explained where he got it. He's a tricky one."

Good times.

"This is the bridge out of town," she said, gesturing across it. "The path up the mountain to the northwest leads to Bleak Falls Barrow. I should get back to my brother. He'll throw a fit if I take too long. Such a child …."

Mariah smiled at her. "Your brother loves you, it sounds like."

"Oh, sure, but it gets to be so tiresome." She shook her head. "Do you have any siblings?"

Mariah looked off into the distance, towards her goal. "You know, I've always wanted a brother or a sister. Never got my wish though. Mom hasn't exactly had any luck in the romance department, not that she's been looking overly hard."

"Oh – what happened to your father?"

She scowled slightly, shaking her head. "The bastard left her before I was born. Said she was sleeping around, when she wasn't, wouldn't ever. See, he claimed he was sterile, only he wasn't."

"That's so sad!"

Mariah looked over at the woman. "Eh, it is what it is. Anyway, Mom's always been good enough for me. I don't _need_ a man in my life, and so far I haven't met a single man who was good enough for her."

"Oh … I see. Well, I should be getting back." Apparently, she didn't really have a response for that.

Well, whatever. She waved slightly, then headed across the bridge.

The path to the left wasn't exactly well-maintained, not like the cobbled street was. She found herself climbing an almost vertical slope. She was quite tempted to climb up on hands and knees, but that wouldn't exactly be the best way to introduce herself to a bandit. "Hi, can you wait for me to get back up on my feet before you shoot me? Thanks." She laughed quietly at herself – but she decided to draw her sword anyway, just in case.

So far, she hadn't reached the part that could actually be called a mountain, just a tall hill. As she ascended it, she noticed snow on the ground, and realized her hands, at least, were getting cold. She flexed her fingers, summoning flame in them.

That warmed them up nicely. She spotted a tower on the left. That didn't look bleak, falls, or barrow, but she figured it couldn't hurt to check it out. Why not?

So she did, only the tower was occupied.

A sentry stood by a tall, snowy tree. The woman drew a weapon and a large shield as she approached.

She held her hands up. "What is this place?" She asked, conversationally.

"You picked a bad time to get lost, friend." The woman replied. "Turn around, and maybe we'll let you live."

She looked around. "We?"

An arrow punched through her shoulder, answering that question. She looked down at it, shock numbing the pain.

The woman smiled, only it wasn't a good smile. She lunged forward, bringing her club down where Mariah was, only Mariah had decided that was a good moment to stumble backwards.

She'd been shot.

That was … that was new.

Someone was trying to kill her.

That wasn't as new as it should have been.

She shifted, turning so the woman was between her and the tower. The archer wouldn't be able to get a clear shot at her, she hoped. She tried to move her left arm, but it was useless. The arm hung like so much dead weight. Magic surged through her veins, and lightning shot up the sword, engulfing the woman. The bandit woman shuddered, finding herself unable to move for the electricity coursing through her. She fell to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.

Mariah stepped over her, looking for the person who'd shot her. The wound throbbed with her heartbeat, her vision was going gray around the edges.

She spotted the man, stalking towards him. He was wielding a crossbow, not a normal bow. It took him a moment to load the next bolt, and during that time, she managed to make it up to him. She brought her sword up, right as he shot again. This one went a little wide, grazing her left arm. Too bad for him.

She pointed at him, her sword at his throat. Lightning poured from the tip of the weapon, and he, too, fell down in a twitching mass of flesh. She carved his throat open, the movements mechanical.

She was cold. The bandits had dressed warmly enough; she had not.

She was cold, and her blood was oozing from her wounds – she reached up, yanking at the bolt. She gasped as a fresh wave of pain rolled through her. It didn't come out easily. She groaned, closing her eyes as she tugged at it again. A third yank that drove her to her knees finally ripped the bolt free. Blood spurted all over the snow.

She couldn't focus clearly enough to picture the green light of healing, but then, she realized she didn't have to. She slid the backpack off her shoulders again, wincing as it slid down her left arm.

She fumbled, one-handed, at the strap that held the pack closed, black spots forming over her eyes. She found a vial filled with reddish liquid. Red was good, right?

Well, if it wasn't, she'd just keep trying until she found one that worked, or she died horribly.

One or the other.

She pulled the cork out with her teeth, spat it out onto the ground, and downed the contents in one swallow.

And nothing happened.


	13. Chapter 13: Lucky

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Thirteen: Lucky_

By: N3k0

In which people die horribly.

She gave the potion a moment or two to work. Slowly, she noticed an odd tingling penetrate the numbness in her left shoulder. She turned, slowly. The woman was struggling to sit up, glaring at her as the twitching slowly subsided.

She pointed at the woman with her sword, and another burst of sparks coalesced at the tip. "I don't want to kill you," she announced tiredly. "Just … go."

Lightning crawled towards the woman, who flinched away.

"I mean it. Get. The fuck. Away from me."

The woman scrambled backwards, then ran like a bitch.

Okay. So.

She was still injured. That was still a thing.

She poked the man's corpse in the side with her toe glaring down at him. He was wearing heavy fur clothing, with a heavy fur cloak. He'd also bled all over the front of it. Bastard.

So yeah, injured.

She reached up with her right hand. Now that the black spots had cleared from her vision, she could think clearly, if slowly. She focused on the idea of warmth and life, of green energy suffusing the wound with light. Slowly, feeling returned to the fingertips on her left hand.

Good. Great. That was fantastic. She shook her hand out to get rid of the worst of the tingles.

Meanwhile, she was pretty sure she was freezing to death. She dragged the man's corpse, one-handed, into the tower. That done, she began the process of carefully peeling his clothing from his body, because the warm fur would do her more good in the cold than the thin robe. Actually …

She looked down, thoughtfully.

Yeah, that would work.

Dropping most of her gear, she pulled the robe up over her head, dancing from foot to foot because gods all damn but it was cold. That done, she pulled the fur clothing on, one pant leg at a time, then the nice warm shirt, then the nice warm vest, then the nice warm gauntlets that still managed to leave her fingers free. That done, she tugged the robe on over the top of the whole ensemble. Much better. The hood went back up, and she was actually pretty warm now. Finally, she fastened the heavy, fur cloak around her shoulders. It was stylish, and she knew firsthand that something like that would most likely help keep the cold out.

She reclaimed the rest of the gear, of course. There was, however, one last thing left to do. She'd ditched the longbow and arrows at Alvor's place, not figuring she was a good enough shot to make it worthwhile. A crossbow, however? Point and click? She was pretty sure she could handle that. She slung the quiver of crossbow bolts over her shoulder, then collected the weapon from the man's cold, dead hands.

She looked at the staircase leading up the tower, then decided to see what all the damn fuss was about. She swiped a coinpurse from a table just inside the doorway, then trudged up the long flight of stairs.

She found a chest at the very frigid top of the tower. Lying on top of it, she found a short-handled axe. Inside, she found a handful of gold.

She could have skipped this whole misguided endeavor and been happy.

Good to know.

She trudged back down the long flight of stairs, then corrected her route. If this wasn't an old Nord tomb, then she'd taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Or somewhere in that general vicinity, anyway. She found a side path that led left, right up the hill to her ultimate destination, which had always been the series of stone archways that marked Bleak Falls Barrow.

She didn't like the looks of it. Nor did she like the idea of killing more men, but, well, she could justify it. They would happily murder her, or worse, if she let them, just for the little coin in her backpack. They had stolen, and would steal again.

Murderers and thieves. She could make herself kill murderers and thieves.

It took her a moment or two to work the crossbow, but once she figured out how it loaded, it seemed easy enough. She held it at the ready, heading up the long staircase that led up the hill.

A man greeted her with a mace and not much else. He was within a couple of feet when she shot him in the stomach. He staggered, she punched him in the face with the crossbow, he fell to the ground, clutching his face and moaning. Easy.

A bolt whizzed past her head, she whirled around to find the archer. Another bolt caught her directly in the windpipe. She fell to her knees, clutching the wound. She heard an odd, gurgling noise emerge from her throat, and she tasted blood. The world went gray around the edges. An arrow pierced her chest from behind knocking her off her feet. She cracked her head forehead on the ground, and the world went completely dark.

She held her crossbow at the ready, heading up the stairway towards Bleak Falls Barrow. Something tickled the edges of her awareness, but she ignored it. The bandits would be tough to kill. What in the name of all the Gods had possessed her to think she could handle this alone?

A man charged down the stairs at her, mace in hand. She shot him in the stomach, and he tumbled down past her – she'd worry about him later. She walked the rest of the way up the stairs. A woman with a bow stood on her right, a man with a crossbow stood on her left. The woman fired, and she barely scampered out of the way. She dropped her own crossbow and ran as fast as she could towards the woman. The woman was drawing her bow. She ducked to the side, getting up close, too close for the bow to do any good. She put her hand to the woman's face and prayed to no one in particular.

Flesh melted as she burned the screaming woman alive.

Yep. She was going to have all kinds of nightmares if she managed to survive.

Crossbow had graduated from the Imperial Stormtrooper Marksmanship Academy, and the bolt sunk home into Longbow's belly. If the woman hadn't already been dead – wait, no, Longbow doubled over, sobbing. Right, she'd worry about Longbow in a moment. Right now – she whirled on Crossbow. Lightning arced between them. She didn't let the spell go until she was certain he wasn't getting back up – then she walked back towards him. Just to be totally sure, she set him on fire with her mind.

Good times. Still going to have nightmares.

She collected her crossbow from where it had fallen, shaking her head softly. These bandits must have been amateurs, if even she could handle them that easily.

That done, she looked around to ensure she was really alone, before heading up the stairs into the tomb itself, closing the door behind her as quietly as humanly possible. She'd made the practice of stealth a habit, even inside her own home; she could manage quiet.

Two people were talking ahead, a man and a woman.

She raised the crossbow to her eye, lining it up with the woman, then aiming ever so slightly up. She fired – the bolt sailed true, catching the woman off-guard. The recoil of the weapon kicked it back into her nose. Ow. That hurt. The man came to investigate. Hanging the crossbow awkwardly from her belt, she shot lightning at him from both hands until he, too, lay unmoving.

Hooray.

They had a fire ready for her. How thoughtful. She collapsed on the heavy fur-lined bedroll someone had kindly set up next to it –

– and fell backwards out of her chair, cursing loudly as she crashed to the ground.


	14. Chapter 14: Cobwebs

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Fourteen: Cobwebs_

By: N3k0

In which she discovers loot.

She threw her headphones off, yanked the earbuds out.

The scent of burning flesh permeated her senses, and she tasted metal in her mouth.

She barely made it to the bathroom in time. Her breakfast – and all subsequent meals – came up at the same time. When she was finally done, she fell back against the bathroom wall, staring up at the ceiling. Oh gods.

Oh gods, oh gods.

She'd killed people, yes, and that was also not as new as it should have been. All she could see in her mind was the sight of the woman's face melting under her hand, the scent/taste of charred meat.

She'd had to do it, of course.

What, was she supposed to let them kill her first?

Oh gods, she'd fallen asleep. She had to have fallen asleep, or she wouldn't be in her house.

What was going to happen to her over there? She tried pinching her arm to see if that would wake her up. All it did was raise a red spot on her arm and hurt a little. She tried willing herself back, tried everything she could think of to just _wake up._

None of it worked.

Oh gods.

Eventually, she heard the loud brrrriiiiing of the tea timer she set to remind her to head to work.

How the hell was she supposed to make it through the day?

She had a long, tense drive to work. Any second, she expected to wake up over there.

She wasn't able to focus on her job; several times she found herself asking the customers to repeat themselves because her mind had been on the other world.

She could barely eat anything all day, and the scent of meat just reminded her of what she'd done.

It was a relief when she finally blinked awake, curled up by a fire that had burned down to nothing. Sitting up, she groaned. She felt stiff and sore. Buh. She pictured the soothing, green light, and the aches and pains subsided. That was a useful trick. Very useful. She wondered if it would work in the real world, as she let her eyes adjust to the utter absence of light.

Sleepily, she raised her hand, calling harmless flames to her palm. It shone like a torch, flickering light bathing the area.

The woman's corpse lay across a chest, a crossbow bolt piercing her skull through one eye. Her blood had oozed out of the wound, causing her face to kind of stick to the chest.

Mariah shuddered slightly. No different from mousetraps. She could handle dead mice with their skulls caved in and their blood everywhere; she could handle a formaldehyde-smelling cadaver in the lab that one time, she could handle the horrific mix of the two concepts: a dead woman with part of her skull caved in and her blood going everywhere.

Easy.

She shoved the woman's corpse off of the box, reminding herself that she desperately needed to eat and someplace safe to stay at night; whatever was in the box would undoubtedly be valuable.

And then the box was locked. She scowled at it, producing the set of thin, metal picks that Hadvar had given her, and set to work.

She had to steady herself before she began. Couldn't be shaking if she wanted to do this. The fire in her hand died, leaving her blind, but then, this was more about how it _felt_, and how it _sounded_, than how it looked, wasn't it? She began with the picks, listening carefully to the lock. It was slow, careful going, and she didn't really expect to succeed. When she heard something _click_ inside the lock, she used the thin knife that had come with the set of picks, using it to gently turn the lock.

To her great surprise, she succeeded.

Hooray.

Opening the chest with one hand, she lit flame in the other to inspect her bounty.

A double-handful of gold coins, and a green-colored potion greeted her, the rewards for her triumph.

She'd certainly take that!

The entryway to the Barrow was eerie and quiet, save for the soft 'whoosh' of air that blew over the holes in the ceiling. Looking around, her right hand held high, she spotted a staircase leading down. As there was only really the one option if she wanted to claim her reward, she headed down the staircase, deeper into the Barrow.

Cobwebs were strung throughout; she burned them, and they melted away. Odd how they weren't really flammable, but then, she'd read something about that once.

She had to use the flames to light her way; there had been no one here before her, as near as she could tell. Certainly, no one had bothered to light the coals in the brazier she passed until she did it. The flickering light revealed a series of gold-ish urns. She left these undisturbed, continuing past. She nearly tripped on the ground ahead. Feeling the stone with her feet, she ran into the roots of some kind of plant. She had to carefully pick her way across the root system, or risk falling flat on her face.

Fortunately, it only lasted for a little way, before the roots apparently gave up on finding sustenance in the Barrow. She found another brazier, lighting this, too, with her conjured flames.

Her feet accidentally kicked something small and furry – looking down, she saw it was some kind of massive rat. It looked as though it had been killed by someone with a sword; several slashes had taken bloody chunks out of its fur. She grimaced, then continued onward.

She came across another patch of roots, picking her way carefully across them. She almost missed it, when several bursts of air were followed by the ping of metal on stone.

She did not, however, miss the sight of the man lying face-down on the ground, his form contorted around some kind of lever he'd fallen on. A torch lay nearby, lighting some of the surroundings with its flames. Well. This would be the first trap, then, and someone had already fallen victim to it. She walked up to the man, kicking him off of the lever. Obviously, the lever was what triggered the darts, but there had to be some kind of logical way to pass this. She saw a stone tablet that looked cracked and worn. Picking up the torch, she inspected it. It bore a carving of a snake.

Hm.

She looked up and around, to see if any more such carvings existed. Those would be the clues, she was sure. A staircase led up, so she went up. The torch lit a carving of a fish, a place where a carving had once hung, and another carving of a snake. From left to right, it read: "Snake, Snake, Fish.

Something in the room had to correspond to those carvings; that was the only thing that made sense.

She walked back down the stairs, and across the way she had her answer. Three stone pillars stood on circular stone slabs. The pillars read "Bird, Fish, Bird." She suspected that was why the man got killed; he hadn't bothered to try figuring out the riddle. Walking up to one of the pillars, she shoved at it, experimentally. It seemed mobile, so she set the torch down, shifting it with both hands until it read "Snake." She smiled to herself, then proceeded to line the rest of the stones up. Snake, Snake, Fish.

Easy.

That done, she crept towards the lever, careful not to step on any of the darts. She pulled it, then ran toward the gate. Nothing happened at first, and she felt silly. Then, there came the sound of metal scraping on stone, and the gate lifted up behind her.

She collected the torch and continued on.

Straight ahead, she saw a pair of stone tables. On one, she saw a book. She picked the book up, stuffed it inside her backpack. She wanted to know as much as she could about the world, and the only way to learn would be to read about it. She'd read the book some other time, however; right now she had a job to do.

She spotted a couple more golden urns, a small soul gem, and a chest.

The chest had another double-handful of gold, as well as another greenish potion. This, as well as the soul gem, she stored in her backpack. To the left, she spotted a wooden staircase that she wasn't quite sure she was prepared to trust her life to. But, if she wanted to progress, she had to try it, at least. She kept close to the wall, putting her weight on the sides of the boards where there was more support.

The staircase, miraculously, held.

When she managed to make it to the bottom of the staircase, she found herself face-to-face with more giant rats. She waved the torch at them, and they backed off, running scared. Like most animals, they were afraid of fire. Smart little bastards; she didn't want to have to cook them alive.

She came to a room that was completely covered in cobwebs. At the center of the room, she spied a table, and several things adorned it. There was a rolled-up piece of parchment, as well as a vial of some unnamed black liquid and two unlit candles.

She collected the rolled up parchment, holding one corner awkwardly with her left hand, unrolling the scroll with her right. She could read the words on the paper, surprisingly enough,

She rolled it back up, holding it in her left hand, along with the torch. It looked useful. If she was reading it right, it would allow her to cast a fiery explosion. It didn't have all the details of the spell, but she could probably get some use out of it.

She came to a doorway that had been completely covered in cobwebs. In fact, although she'd been refusing to think about it, the whole area had been covered in cobwebs. She'd just been burning the ones that got in her way, as she did the thick webbing on the entryway.

It melted into so much blackened, charred goop.

She entered the room, shuddering slightly. It, too, was completely covered in webbing. Massive eggsacs clung to the walls. This part of the ruin clearly belonged to spiders. She began burning the eggsacs; she did _not_ want hungry spiderlings coming after her later on. The idea was horrifying.

Something chittered overhead. She slowly, cautiously looked up.

A massive – truly, massive – spider clung to the ceiling. It put the ones she'd faced in Helgen to shame. Venom dripped from its mandibles, and the ground sizzled where it landed.

She froze, eyes wide, as it crawled down the wall towards her.


	15. Chapter 15: Flammable

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Fifteen: Flammable_

By: N3k0

In which I don't want to set the world on fire.

She backed slowly out of the room.

The spider advanced slowly on her.

She tripped on a root, landing flat on her ass. The torch rolled off to the side. She grabbed the scroll in both hands, reading it aloud. The words were foreign even to her ears, the meaning incomprehensible.

There was a _twisting_ to the air around her. Fire engulfed the scroll, then shot forward, exploding on the spider's face. It screeched, a high, awful, terrible noise. It lunged at the doorway, its forelegs clawing the air where she'd just been as she scrambled just outside of its reach. The thing hissed at her, spittle flying from its mandibles and sizzling where it hit the ground.

If she managed to kill it? Totally bottling that venom. She was sure she'd find a use for something that seemed to be melting _stone._

She held her hands out in front of her, eyes closed. She felt the heat build in her palms. Giving the magic just a tiny push, she felt it roar to life like a dragon in her hands. Flame spewed forth from her hands, a continuous stream of it engulfing the spider. It screamed its agony, an inhuman sound that chilled her to the bone.

She peeked at it. It was wobbling from side to side, its legs not quite moving together. She shot another quick blast of flame at it, the fizzy reservoir of power she recognized as magic almost running dry. Another shot of flame, and another.

The spider fell, crisped, to land on its belly.

She thought it was dead. She was pretty sure it was dead. She shifted her backpack around, fishing in it until she found a vial of blue liquid. She popped the cork on it, downing it in one gulp. It felt fizzy against her tongue, and she knew she had a winner. Magic, in liquid form. Delicious. Or at least, she assumed it was delicious; she didn't really taste it so much as feel it buzzing down her throat.

That done, she hesitantly inched forward on hands and knees, towards the spider. She put the vial to one of its massive teeth, and black venom dripped down into it.

Fun. Definitely not a potion she'd be drinking.

That done, she cautiously stood up. Walking back out of the room, she collected the torch, which had burnt out. She lit it again with a small burst of flame.

All right, so …

She kept her distance from the probably-dead, still-burning spider, edging into the room. Several unidentifiable, web-wrapped corpses lay around the spider's lair, culminating in a webbed-up exit on the far side of the room. A man's mummified corpse hung from the sticky webbing, something shiny glinting at his feet. She approached him, hesitantly, and there it was: the golden claw.

Well, that was easy. She picked it up, looking it over. It bore markings not unlike the carvings she'd seen earlier. A bear, a dragonfly, and an owl. Hnh.

She shrugged, then stuffed it into her backpack. One objective completed, one to go. Hopefully the Dragonstone wasn't too big. Between the books, the potions, and the claw, her backpack was already getting heavy.

She cut the man's corpse down with her sword, then proceeded quickly on into the next room. More golden urns lined some kind of a circular stone table. The only thing of any interest to her was another purplish-blue soul gem lying between two of the urns. She collected it, and pressed on.

She entered a mausoleum of some kind. It was eerie, the light of her torch barely illuminating desiccated corpses.

Much to her surprise, one of the corpses started to get up and move.

Okay. Zombies she could handle. In their idle moments, she and her mom would discuss how they'd totally survive the upcoming zombie apocalypse. Obviously, killing zombies was a huge part of that.

The zombie approached her. It was a lot faster than she had imagined zombies being.

She blasted it with fire magic.

The zombie was then on fire.

It continued to advance towards her.

This was not turning out as she'd anticipated.

She continued to blast it with short bursts of fire, backing up all the while, and it eventually fell to the ground in a pool of molten flesh and charred bone.

That was easy.

A line of pain rolled down her right arm as another zombie caught her with an axe. She bashed it in the face with a torch, recoiling in pain. She could still use the arm, but it hurt, clouding her mind. She beat the zombie with the torch until it fell to the ground.

She focused on healing magic, conjuring the minty green light and picturing her flesh knitting up.

Zombie number two continued to burn for a few moments.

A third zombie courteously waited for her to finish killing its compatriots before it tried its luck with her. She pointed, and lightning engulfed it. The lightning was not super-effective. In fact, the zombie seemed largely unphased.

"Fire it is," she announced to zombie number three. She proceeded to roast his undead ass. By this time she was halfway up the ramp that led down into the mausoleum proper, and the corpse rolled downhill.

Whew. That had been closer than she wanted to think about. Also, her nice fur armor and the robe were both sporting a new blood-soaked cut. Damn zombies.

At least she knew healing magic.

She continued on, further into the tomb. She bypassed an utterly obvious – but no doubt quite deadly – spiked wall and its ornamented stone pressure plate trigger.

Well, if that was all the more devious the traps in this place were going to be, she was going to have a grand time of it.

She made a point of incinerating every corpse she came across, many of which decided that they should get up and move again. She didn't have much trouble with the zombies, especially since they seemed fairly vulnerable to being set on fire, and they had to crawl out of their little shelves before they could attack.

She did, however, run into a slight problem in the next hallway.

The traps had become more devious.

Swinging blade traps, the kind she recognized from all sorts of video games. Eternal Darkness had them, at least. These swinging blades were set as a particularly deadly pendulum.

Oh, hello. It was actually pretty simple. Long wooden shafts swung from the ceiling. The blade was suspended with rope. So, she set fire to the ropes. The blade hung at an angle, and it ground to a halt, the careful calibrations that let it swing back and forth completely ruined when its balance failed. She grabbed the pole leading down to the blade. It was still valiantly trying to swing back and forth. Grabbing the blade with her other hand, she spun it sideways. The whole thing screwed together, so she unscrewed it. The blade fell to the floor with a loud clang, the flat side of it landing on her foot. Ow.

She repeated the process with the next two blades, painstakingly dismantling the trap.

That was actually rather fun!

She continued down the winding hallway, incinerating every corpse she came across.

Finally, she came to a room with a small stream and a bridge. A large black coffin stood on the other side, the front of which fell off as its occupant pushed against the inside. This corpse, too, got roasted. That done, she looked around. At first, there were no obvious exits. A chest sat next to the coffin, and she looted it as was becoming her custom.

The stream started from the left side of the room – since she was facing the other way, now it was the right – on the ceiling, and continued down towards a grate with a pull chain beside it.

Well, there was her answer. She pulled the chain, and the grate lifted into the ceiling.

Onward, now with slightly wetter boots.

The nice, orderly tomb gave way to a more natural cave. It was lit by glowing mushrooms which, she was pretty sure, were poisonous. Bright colors meant poison, after all, right?

Right.

She spotted something unusual in the river, and she knelt to pick it up. It turned out to be a skull, though not of any beast she could identify. For one thing, it had three eyes.

Whatever. If she had a home to decorate, she'd definitely take it there. Since she didn't, there was no point in taking the skull with her; she dropped it and it fractured.

Another chest – why were there boxes just lying everywhere? – and then an open-aired section with a waterfall. Pretty, but cold. She pressed on after a moment of admiration for the scenery and to push a zombie off the cliff into the water below.

Fun.

The cave eventually intersected with a tomb again, complete with a big set of double-doors, and another zombie flambé.

She pushed the doors open. The tomb continued on until she reached another swinging axe trap. She carefully picked her way past the first two axes, dismantling them just for the fun of it. With the right timing, the things were utterly trivial; she just didn't have a great sense of timing. Destroying the traps forever was safer.

Then, a zombie climbed out of the nearby coffin.

It took a swinging axe to the face. The axe embedded itself into the zombie's belly, so now, not only was the axe swinging from left to right, but it also had a zombie flopping from one end.

She edged past the zombie, and into the room proper.

It was lit by two jugs filled with some kind of substance that happened to be on fire. Two zombies – Draugr! That was what Hadvar had called them! – made their way down a wooden staircase towards her. The ground seemed to be covered in some kind of oil. She considered her options, then set fire to the rope holding up one of the jugs of flaming goop.

The Draugr-zombie immediately under it burst into flames and died instantly.

Its friend was somewhat smarter; not only was it using a bow, but it waited to approach until the flaming oil had evaporated. In the meantime, she had to narrowly dodge an arrow to the face. When Draugr-zombie the second was right under the other jug, she burned the second rope. The second jug fell on his head, and he, too, burned to death.

Somehow, killing zombies didn't pack the same punch as killing people did. Possibly because they really didn't look human anymore. That was probably a big part of it – dehumanization.

She climbed the staircase, then felt her way along to the next big set of double-doors. Pushing them open, she entered a room that felt … eerie. It was a long stretch of hallway with an arching ceiling, leading up to a massive door. She thought she saw carvings on the walls, but she couldn't really make them out in the dim light offered by her guttering torch.

At least, she thought it was a door. It looked like it was supposed to open, but it didn't have a door handle or any kind of keyhole – no, wait, there was a series of three indents in the center of the door. Around the middle circle of stone, three stone rings formed a bull's-eye. In each ring, she saw a carving. She was unsurprised to discover the carving matched those on the golden claw. In fact, she'd been kind of expecting it.

She inspected the claw, then inspected the door. Then back to the claw. Okay, she knew what she had to do. Bear, butterfly, bird. Setting the torch on the ground, she reached up with both hands to pull the first stone circle into position. It was old, and not particularly cooperative, but it eventually turned so that the bear was on the top. Next, the dragonfly, then the owl.

She frowned slightly.

Okay, everything was in place. Now what?

She considered the claw, then the three holes in the center circle. Pushing the claw against the 'keyhole,' she found that its talons fit perfectly.

There was a loud grinding as the wall sank into the floor.

Puzzle solved. Now for the main chamber.


	16. Chapter 16: The Dragonstone

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Sixteen: The Dragonstone_

By: N3k0

In which things get heavy.

The staircase led up, into another cave-like area. Stone pillars held up an uneven stone ceiling, and as she passed through, the flutter of wings alerted her to look up. Bats flapped away into the main chamber, before disappearing from her line of sight. She didn't mind bats, as long as they weren't flying around inside her house, anyway.

A bridge led over a small chasm. She had to test her weight on it first; it was thin, and it didn't look particularly sturdy.

But it held, and she crossed, and did not get dumped into the water below. So that was good.

Another short staircase led up to a half-circle of stone that was inscribed with strange writing. It was foreign to her eyes; she couldn't begin to read it. One word stood out among the rest. She recognized it immediately, understood it without knowing how. Walking up to the stony wall, she ran her fingertips over the indents in the stone. "Fus," she murmured quietly. Force.

The dragon had spoken Force, and the headsman had gone flying. She remembered.

Behind her, she heard stone grinding against stone. It crashed to the ground with a noise that echoed throughout the chamber.

She turned slowly, and came face-to-face with a much more intimidating zombie. It seemed … slightly bigger, than the others, and it wielded a greatsword that she would swear bore some kind of enchantment. It brought the weapon down, the tip grazing her cheek as she scrambled out of the way. The wound felt … cold. She would swear her blood froze as it oozed from the cut.

So, a frost enchantment. Otherwise useful for keeping mugs of beer cold, she was sure.

She dropped the torch, holding both hands out before her. Flames burst from her hands, engulfing the zombie. It caught fire, but that didn't even slow it down, not even a little bit.

"Fus … Ro Dah!" The zombie apparently spoke the dragon's tongue. He spoke Force, and she braced herself for the impact. It still knocked her to her knees. He brought his sword down again, and she barely scrambled out of the way. The robe developed a slit up the front where his weapon tore the cloth.

Another desperate burst of flames, and he staggered. A third, a fourth. He fell to his knees, then flat on his face, his dry flesh burning like so much kindling.

Mummies were supposed to be weak to fire, since they were just dried-out people.

Apparently that was true facts.

Good to know.

She traded the zombie's greatsword for her own, fastening it into place on her back.

That done, she looked around. There was a chest. Presumably, she'd find the Dragonstone in there. If not, she wasn't sure where she'd find it; this felt like the main chamber.

Hesitantly, she cracked open the lid.

Gold filled the bottom of the chest. On top of the gold rested an old, cracked stone that resembled nothing so much as the home plate in a baseball field. She was pretty sure it was even the same size. It bore an odd sigil toward the bottom point, and a large map with various points marked on it. This would be the Dragonstone, then, and those points would be dragon burial sites. It looked heavy. No one had bothered to inform her that she'd need a bigger backpack to become an adventurer … apparently she was supposed to have figured that one out on her own. Ah, well.

She lifted the heavy stone out of the box, setting it aside for a moment. Then, she looted the chest of all it was worth. The gold alone had started to weigh her down. That, she assumed, was how she'd know she had enough. Well … she probably didn't actually have enough for anything great, but she had, for certain, more than a single night's stay at the Bannered Mare.

After she'd finished looting, she picked up the stone again. It required both hands, because it was large and rather awkward. What would she do if something attacked her while she was carrying the damn thing? Oh right. Beat its head in with the massive rock. Duh.

That done, she looked around. The obvious exit was back through the entire temple. That didn't really appeal to her, however. She didn't want to face the pile of corpses she'd left behind, and not only because they'd probably started to reek. Not only that, but she was sure the vermin she'd scared off had begun to feast on them, and that was something she really didn't want to look at.

There was also a staircase that led up, though. She figured it was worth a shot, so she hefted the Dragonstone and began her ascent.

She came to a dead end quickly enough. Focusing on the idea of fire, she conjured flamelets around her body to light the area around her. That done, she spotted an odd sort of podium, with a circular device on top. Setting the Dragonstone down at its base, she lifted the handle inside the circular device. It seemed to twist, so she twisted it, then let go. It spun back to its starting position. The sound of stone grinding against stone greeted her, and the wall to the left sank into the ground.

Cool, a secret exit. She picked the Dragonstone back up and began feeling her way along a narrow tunnel. She made it quite a ways before the ground fell out from under her. She yelped as, for a moment, she hung in midair.

She landed poorly, and she was fairly certain she'd sprained an ankle or twisted something wrong. Her legs hurt. Fortunately, she knew healing magic, so after a moment or two of lying on the ground in pain, she conjured the minty green light to soothe away her aches, and she was good as new. That trick was becoming seriously useful. She sat up with a slight groan, inspecting the tablet. Nope, still good as … well, she couldn't say new, because it was still weathered and cracked, but good as when she found it, anyway.

The tunnel led outside, to a crisp, clear morning.

The tunnel also led to a sheer cliff face. She found herself falling again, skidding down the rocks awkwardly. Landing in a heap on a pile of bones, she once again had to summon the healing light because she'd acquired a bad case of road rash.

What fun this whole damn trip was turning out to be.

At least she was still alive. That had to say something for her.

She looked around, but she didn't really recognize where she was, not even in a general sense. She saw a large lake in front of her, and a forest beyond that. Some trees lined this side of the lake, but not enough to qualify as a forest.

She was lost. She was really, truly, lost.

She did the only thing she could do. Water generally meant people; she made her way down to the shore, carefully picking her way across the field of large boulders and smaller rocks. When she finally made it to the shore, she picked a direction. She chose left, and began walking that way.

Eventually, she spotted a campsite across the lake, and the Guardian Stones beyond that. She was so relieved she could have cried. She'd picked the right direction; she was practically back at Riverwood.

There was only one problem. She'd have to cross a large body of water to get there.

Well, whatever. She was sure she could find the bridge again.

She continued on. She was faced with the choice of climbing a hill or letting herself be swept away by the river; she climbed the hill.

Making her way back down the hill, she spotted Riverwood directly across the river.

A man's voice called out behind her. "All right, hand over your valuables, or I'll gut you like a fish."

What.

"Where did _you_ come from?" She looked back at him, confused. Her confusion only increased as she realized he was not human, elven, or khajiit, but some kind of lizard person. "And … what are you?"

He looked at her like she was stupid. She was getting that a lot. "I'm the man who's about to kill you," he explained, keeping his voice slow and even. "I've been following you for a while now." Well, that explained where he came from anyway – how had she missed that she was being followed? Gah. Stupid.

"No, really," she said, keeping it conversational. "I've never seen anyone like you. Where are you from?" She sat the Dragonstone on the ground, brushing her hands off.

She hadn't come this far, nor had she killed all those zombies and bandits, just to die five minutes from her goal, thank you very much.

"Does it really matter? I'm the man with the knife."

She sighed loudly. "Look, you don't want to do this. I guarantee you won't like the outcome."

"Stranger, I'm about to kill you and take your things. You're the one who won't like where this is going." He wasn't really expressive, but then, lizards didn't seem to have a wide range of expressions. His voice sounded a bit exasperated, though.

"Your choice," she said, smiling softly. "Either you walk away right now or …" She shrugged slightly.

He just _looked_ at her. "Okay, I'll bite. What happens if I don't walk away."

"This."

Lightning arced from her right hand. The lizard apparently had a nervous system just as fragile as any human's. When she found the exact right strength, he began twitching uncontrollably, unable to move past the first step he'd tried to take.

When she was sure he wasn't getting up – being a human Taser was awesome! – she collected the Dragonstone and ran for the bridge.

He was too busy lying on the ground and flopping like a fish to follow.


	17. Chapter 17: Turning In

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Seventeen: Turning In_

By: N3k0

In which Dragonstone juggling becomes an Olympic sport.

She made it back to Riverwood, still carrying the Dragonstone in both hands.

People looked at her a little strangely as she walked up to the Riverwood Trader, but no one stopped her to ask what she was doing, a fact for which she was infinitely grateful. She leaned the stone on the wall, then opened the door, then propped the door open with her foot, then collected the Dragonstone, then entered the building.

"That is _not_ my claw," Lucan announced.

She smiled. "No, it isn't. But, I do _have_ your claw."

"You – you found it?" He sounded unbelievably eager.

She nodded, walking up to the counter and depositing the Dragonstone on it. That done, she swung her backpack around. The golden claw was resting on top of a pile of gold. She held it out for him with a flourish and a smile.

"There it is!" He laughed, taking it in both hands. "Strange, it seems ... smaller than I remember. Funny thing, huh?"

She nodded.

"I'm going to put this back where it belongs. I-I'll never forget this." He smiled, looking down at the claw. He rested it on the countertop. "You've done a great thing for me and my sister."

Another nod. "So about that coin … ?"

"Yes, yes, here it is." He produced a large sack of gold, setting it on the counter next to her backpack.

She continued to smile, opening it up and peeking inside. "Thanks." Collecting her things, she headed for the door. She needed food and water, and then she'd head out again.

The next building over was the inn; she headed that way.

A part of her thought she might be able to beg for something from Alvor and Sigrid, but no. She'd imposed on them enough already.

"You there – " A blond man in a yellow vest stopped her on her way to the inn. "Were you – were you talking to Camilla Valerius, just now?"

She blinked, tilted her head to the side. "Uhm. Who?"

"Camilla Valerius. Lucan's sister?"

She was supposed to know that? "Oh. Uh … no. I had business with Lucan."

"I see … " He looked at her thoughtfully. "Well … could you deliver a message for me?"

Buh. She just _looked_ at him. "Depends. Will I get paid to play courier?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I've got some money I've saved up from working at the mill. It's yours – if you deliver one little letter for me." He held up a note for her.

She eyed the note. "And what's the catch?"

"The catch? There's no catch. Just tell her the letter's from Faendal. Come back, and tell me how it goes. All right?"

She nodded. "Just put it on top of the stone."

"All right. And – thank you." He smiled, waved, and wandered off.

The fuck had that all been about, anyway?

She shrugged slightly, entering the inn. The fire was warm, the stone floor covered by large fur rugs. She smelled meat cooking on the spit, and her mouth instantly started to water. She set her burden down on the counter, looking up at the man behind it. "How much does it cost to get some meat?"

"Say … twenty-six gold."

She nodded, fishing in the sack until she collected the money needed and set it on the counter.

The man nodded to her, in return, and went to the spit. He cut a leg off the animal roasting there, walked back, and handed it to her.

She began to eat, hungrily devouring the meat off the bone. It was delicious, at any rate.

"Where's the innkeeper?" she asked, idly.

The man shrugged. "Out. She owns the place, she does what she wants."

"So ... how would I rent a room?" She tore off a big chunk of meat with her teeth, chewed, swallowed.

Another shrug. "Inn's closed," he said simply. "Bar's still open though. Feel free to sit and put your head down on the table for as long as you like. I won't bother ya."

"Sure. Maybe I'll take you up on that." She smiled.

When she finally finished gorging herself on the animal-of-some-description, she left the bone on a plate and headed out of the inn. Back to the Riverwood Trader, she opened the door and stepped inside.

"Hello, hello! Did you need something else, friend?"

She smiled at Lucan. "Actually, I need to talk to your sister." She turned to look at Camilla, who'd been enjoying some tea by the fire.

"Oh, all right."

She shifted the stone around so she was holding it one-handed, its weight mostly resting on her hip. She held out the letter for Camilla. "Your friend – blond hair, blue eyes, kind of tallish – wanted you to have this. I think he said his name was Faendal?"

"No … " The woman frowned. "Faendal is a wood elf. He's got dark hair and eyes, like most of his people."

"Right, well then. Your friend wanted you to think Faendal wrote this."

The woman shook her head, looking a bit confused. "Sven wanted me to … What's in that letter?" Camilla took the letter from her, reading it over. Whatever was in the letter made her eyes widen a little bit. "Oh – oh my. He wanted me to think Faendal wrote this? Thank you for telling me the truth. Could you talk to Faendal as well? I'm sure he'll want to thank you for standing up for him."

Considering she'd apparently just blown her chance at yellow-shirt's life savings, she might as well. A slight shrug, and she resumed holding the Dragonstone in both hands. "Sure. Where is he, do you know?"

"He'll be working at the mill. Tell him I asked him to come over when he's done, all right?"

Another shrug. "Why not?"

So she walked out of the Riverwood Trader again, headed across the wooden bridge to the lumbermill proper. She found the elf chopping wood. "Hey," she called. "Faendal, right?"

"Ye-es?" The elf paused for a moment. "Can I help you?"

She nodded, walking up behind him. "Camilla wants to see you tonight. Apparently, some guy named Sven was trying to make you look bad."

"Oh, really?" He looked confused. "And … how do you fit into all this, friend?"

She shifted the weight of the Dragonstone slightly. "Me? I'm just the messenger. Sven handed me the letter, tried to pass it off as your handwriting. So, I told her what was doing."

"You don't know what this means to me. If my heart didn't already belong to Camilla, I'd kiss you. Instead … how about some gold for your trouble?"

A bright smile. "Honestly, the gold will do me more good."

"I thought it might." He responded with a smile of his own, adding a small coinpurse off his belt to her load.

The trip back to Whiterun was uneventful. She caught herself yawning – when had she even woken up?

Ah well. She'd make it to Whiterun, rest up in the Bannered Mare, and then take the Dragonstone to Farengar in the morning. She passed a small crowd of people in the market on her way to the inn. Ignoring them, she did the awkward Dragonstone-juggling act to open the door, edged inside. Only a small handful of people were hanging out in the inn. Most of them looked like tough warrior types. Serving as the entertainment was a blond man with a stringed instrument – a lute, maybe? – singing a song about killing Stormcloaks.

Good times. "I'd like to rent a room," she managed around a large yawn. "Here's the fee." She counted out a hundred gold pieces of Lucan's reward money, carefully stacking them on the counter beside the Dragonstone.

"You know the way." Hulda smiled, collecting the coin.

Mariah took her things up to the room she'd rented. She didn't remember setting anything down, exactly. She just collapsed on the bed, and that was that.


	18. Chapter 18: Argonian Ale

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Eighteen: Argonian Ale_

By: N3k0

In which possession is nine-tenths of the law.

Her dreams were completely normal, which was a relief. No work, no prophetic visions, no horrible death, just random adventures in lands her mind had made up for her.

She promptly forgot everything about the dream as she woke up, a little disoriented, in her bed at home. She remembered, dully, that it was her day off, and Mom had woken her up a bit ago, announcing that she was heading out to Amtgard. Woo, freedom and solitude.

She spent most of it lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. She just couldn't persuade herself to get up.

When she finally did get up, she went out to the kitchen, burned a pan with eggs in it, and ate the edible remains. She wasn't really a great cook.

That done, she spent her day doing something slightly different; she sought out and downloaded various Minecraft mods, playing around with them until she got them to work together. She didn't actually get to play the game before she woke back up in Skyrim.

Tragic. Still, she woke well-rested, rolling out of bed.

"Hullo." The girl's voice came from the doorway, and she looked up and over at Lucia, tilting her head to the side. "I'd say good morning, but it's actually night time."

She reached up to rub the sleep out of her eyes, yawning hugely. "Uh huh. What are you doing in my room?" She honestly didn't mind, it was just an idle question. Lucia's face fell anyway. "I mean, it's okay, don't get me wrong. I'm just curious, is all."

"Oh, well … Miss Hulda told me you were up here, and I have something for you, is all." The girl walked over, holding out a vial with both hands. "Brenuin says it's a healing potion."

Taking the vial, she smiled up at Lucia. "Now, what makes you think I'm going to need this?"

"Well," the girl said, thoughtfully, "you kind of look like you've been getting into fights. Your robes are all cut up, and there's blood on them."

Oh. That made sense. "Okay, how about this – where'd you get that, anyway? Aren't healing potions kind of expensive?" She assumed they would be; anything with magic in it _had_ to be outside the price range of the average beggar child.

"Brenuin gave it to me."

She frowned. "And what did you have to do for Brenuin to give it to you?"

"We-ell … " The girl looked down and away, guiltily.

She smiled. "It's okay, you can tell me, I promise." Inside, she was fuming, but she couldn't let that show on her face, or the girl wouldn't share. Whoever 'Brenuin' was, it looked like he'd been taking advantage of a child.

"Okay … Brenuin said he was thirsty, and he wanted this special bottle of ale Miss Hulda keeps in the back room. So I got it for him, and he gave me the healing potion, and now I'm giving it to you."

She shook her head. "So you stole something for him?"

"Well … I guess so, but he said Miss Hulda wouldn't miss it anyway, and he's always so nice to me and … And …. "

She sighed. "Look … I'm sure Brenuin is nice to you, but stealing like that can get you in trouble. You don't want Miss Hulda to kick you out of the inn, do you?"

"Nobody saw me take it, I made sure!"

Not … precisely the lesson she was going for. Still …. "If you're going to do stuff like that, I can't stop you, I guess. Just try not to get caught, okay?" She stood up, reaching out to ruffle Lucia's hair. It was the thought that counted, anyway.

Sort of.

"Now, I've got to go up to Dragonsreach. Did you need anything from me before I go?"

The girl gave her the saddest face. "I'm really hungry, ma'am."

"Let's get you something to eat."

She picked up her gear, the Dragonstone, and her sack of gold, and they headed downstairs. She traded a handful of gold for a filling meal, which they shared at one of the tables.

"You can use my bed for the night; I won't be, so someone might as well get some good out of it." She smiled warmly at Lucia.

The girl beamed. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Don't call me that," she said absently, smiling.

An impish grin. "Yes, ma'am."

When the meal was finished, Lucia headed upstairs with a wave. She headed outside into the night.

Fantastic, it was raining again.

"Foolish old woman! You know nothing! Nothing of our struggles, our suffering!" She couldn't see the speaker, nor did she care to. She leaned back against the door, hiding under the scant protection of the protruding roof of the inn. She didn't much care for the rain.

The old woman folded her arms. "And what of my son? Hm? What of Thorald? Is he nothing? So don't talk to me about suffering."

"Your son chose his side, and he chose poorly. And now he's gone." These callous words came from a man in Imperial leathers, illuminated by a brazier outside the Bannered Mare. "Such is the way of war. The sooner you accept his loss, the better."

The woman sounded defiant. "I will _never_ accept his death. My son still lives, I feel it in my heart. So tell me, Battle-Borns, where is he? Where are you holding my Thorald?"

"Do you believe this old hag?" The first man's voice was dripping with contempt. "'Holding him'? Why, I've got him in my cellar. He's my _prisoner_." The man was obviously being sarcastic. "Face it, cow, your stupid son is dead. He died a Stormcloak traitor. And you – you best keep your mouth shut, before you suffer the same."

"Come on, Father. There's nothing more to be said here." The two men began to walk off.

What could she possibly do? She sighed, hugely, letting the woman go, too, before she began her ascent to Dragonsreach.

She wasn't some kind of hero, she reminded herself. She'd been extremely lucky to survive as long as she had, and frankly, pretending to be a hero would get her – and the people she tried to help – killed.

No, best stay out of it.

By the time she'd made it up to Dragonsreach, she was already damp.

Ugh.

One of the guards was kind enough to open the door for her, and she stepped inside, heading up the stairs and to the right.

"You see? The terminology is clearly First Era, or even earlier," Farengar was saying. "I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text, perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War." If only she'd paid attention in history class … ah, who was she kidding, even if she had, her history would have been useless in this world. "If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other, later texts."

Farengar had a shady-looking woman in tight-fitting, leather armor as his guest. "Good," she said simply. "I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."

"Oh, have no fear!" Farengar smiled to the woman. "The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research."

Mariah leaned on the doorframe, watching the two talk.

The woman pushed off of the countertop, looking over at the mage. "Time is running, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. The Dragons have come back."

"Yes, yes, don't worry." He waved her off. "Although, the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable …." He shook his head. "Now, let me show you something – "

The woman looked straight at her. She tilted her head to the side. "You have a visitor."

"Hm? Ah, yes!" Farengar turned his attention to her. "The Jarl's protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems."

She felt one eyebrow lift. "Was I supposed to?"

"Well – I mean, no ..." His eyes fell on the stone in her hands. "Ah, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."

She shifted the stone, then rested it on his desk. "So, I got you the Dragonstone. What happens next?"

"That is where your job ends, and mine begins. The work of the mind, sadly undervalued here in Skyrim." He glanced over at the woman. "My … associate … here will be most pleased as well. She located the Dragonstone, through means she has yet to divulge to me."

The woman regarded her curiously. "You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work." She turned her attention to Farengar. "Just send me a copy of …. "

"Farengar!" Irileth called. "Farengar, you need to come at once! A dragon's been sighted nearby!"

The elf looked over at Mariah. "You should come, too."


	19. Chapter 19: The Western Watchtower

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Nineteen: The Western Watchtower_

By: N3k0

In which her competence is over-estimated.

"A dragon! How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?" Farengar was unreasonably excited.

Irileth was not impressed. "I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it." Personally, Mariah agreed with Irileth. The idea of a dragon destroying Whiterun … she could picture Lucia burning to death in a dragon's flames. The very concept horrified her. The city destroyed, its people slaughtered in the streets … she could imagine it vividly.

Farengar's informant walked out past them. Despite her apparent interest in the dragons' return, she didn't seem to want to know about the dragon attack. Or maybe she just had somewhere important to be, somewhere that wasn't about to be attacked by a dragon.

Mariah shrugged, following Irileth and Farengar out of the room. One of the guards joined their group on the way up a set of stairs she hadn't actually noticed before.

"So," the Jarl began. "Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"Tell him what you told me," Irileth said. "About the dragon."

The guard looked slightly uncomfortable, under his face-concealing helmet. "Uh … that's right. We saw it coming from the south. It was fast … faster than anything I've ever seen."

"What did it do?" The Jarl demanded. "Is it attacking the watchtower?"

The guard shook his head. "No, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life – I thought it would come after me for sure."

"Good work, son. We'll take it from here." The Jarl clapped the man on the shoulder with a confident smile. "Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it." He turned his attention to his housecarl. "Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there."

The woman nodded. "I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gate."

"Good. Don't fail me." Then, the Jarl turned his attention to Mariah. "There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon."

A choked noise of disbelief escaped her. "Me?"

"You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here," he pointed out. Damn his logic, but he was right.

She shook her head. "My lord," she said, figuring she'd use the more familiar term for his office, "I mostly just ran for my life. I don't know that I'm the best choice …."

"Nonsense. You'll do fine." He smiled, and she almost felt … competent. Like she could maybe handle what fate apparently had in store for her. "But," he said, and this time he clapped her shoulder. "I haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar. As a token of my esteem, I have instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property within the city. Furthermore, I will have my servants choose another item for you from my personal armory."

She gave a small bow. "Thank you, my lord."

"I should come along," Farengar spoke up. "I should very much like to see this dragon for myself."

The Jarl shook his head. "No. I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons."

"As you command."

Jarl Balgruuf looked towards his housecarl once more. "One last thing, Irileth. This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."

"Don't worry, my lord." There was an odd glint to the elf's eyes. "I'm the very soul of caution."

Somehow, Mariah didn't think that was true.

It was still raining as she followed Irileth out of Dragonsreach. Lightning lit up the sky. She tugged the hood up a little tighter around her head, moving as quickly as her legs would take her.

They met up with four guards at the main gate. Three of them wore horned helmets, rather than the standard face-concealing mask most guards wore. The fourth had apparently decided to stick to his normal uniform. A cynical part of her suspected that he'd be the one to die first.

"Here's the situation," the housecarl announced. "A dragon is attacking the western watchtower!"

One guard gasped. "A dragon?"

"Now we're in for it …." Number Three (he was third from her left) shook his head.

The housecarl continued as though she hadn't been interrupted. "You heard right! I said a dragon!" Irileth seemed to relish the chance to give a speech. She continued, with gusto. "I don't much care where it came from, or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!"

"But housecarl …" Guard Two began. "How can we fight a dragon?"

The elf paused. "That's a fair question. None of us has ever seen a dragon before, nor expected to face one in battle. But we are honorbound to fight it, even if we fail. This dragon is threatening our homes, our families!" Irileth paused, looking straight at Guard Two. "Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?"

"No, housecarl!"

Guard number one whispered, so it was barely audible above the rain. "We're so dead." Privately, Mariah agreed with him. She knew _she_, at least, was not making it out of an encounter with a dragon alive. _Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup. _That proverb was at the forefront of her mind.

"But it's more than our honor at stake here," the housecarl continued. "Think of it – the first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age! The glory of killing it is ours, _if you're with me! _Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?!"

The guards cheered.

It was a rousing speech.

Now if only the sinking feeling of impending doom would just go away.

"Let's move out."

She followed Irileth and the guardsmen at some distance, praying to no one in specific that maybe, just maybe, the dragon wouldn't even see her. She didn't normally think of herself as a coward, but she was terrified. And still she was heading toward her ultimate demise like an idiot.

What fun.

The rain passed shortly after they left the city. They followed the road west, until they came across a destroyed tower. Parts of it were still burning from dragonfire, and rubble was strewn everywhere.

"No signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here." Irileth looked over at the guardsmen. "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened. And, if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out, and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with." All of the warriors unsheathed their weapons. Mariah? Her mind was her greatest weapon.

Too bad she'd rotted it by playing video games all the time ….

The others spread out. She walked up to the tower itself, picking her way through the rubble carefully, so as not to have her robe catch on fire. A guardsman hesitantly edged out towards the door as she approached. "No! Get back!" He cried. "It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"

"It's all right," she said, trying to radiate confidence she didn't feel. "We brought more men."

He shook his head. "Don't you understand? It'll just kill you all!" He looked up, and horror dawned on his face. "Kynareth save us – here he comes again!"


	20. Chapter 20: Mirmulnir

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Twenty: Mirmulnir_

By: N3k0

In which bad decisions are made.

"Here he comes!" Irileth called. "Find cover, and make every arrow count!"

What the fuck was she supposed to do? She wasn't an archer, she wasn't even particularly good with the crossbow, she was just going to get roasted by a dragon and die.

Oh right. Magic.

She had magic. Maybe – maybe – that would help.

The dragon roared down from the mountains. There came the whoosh of air over his wings, and then he landed, with a roar.

He spoke words, but she didn't understand them, exactly. There was mirth in his tone, however, as he reached out and bit one of the guards in half.

_Can't think, can't think – _

She reached out with both hands, spewing lightning at her foe. He snapped those massive teeth at her, catching the front of her robe. It tore, loudly, but he used it to fling her to the side. She landed against a wall with a loud crunch and a groan.

_Gotta get up – _

She pushed herself up on hands and knees. There came the whoosh of air as the dragon took flight once more, circling around the tower. The other guardsmen shot arrows and crossbow bolts; Irileth seemed to be using lightning, to somewhat better effect than Mariah had.

She made it to standing, wobbily. The beast landed again, right in front of her. One eye was turned towards her, as though he was inspecting her.

She froze, lightning crackling ineffectually on her fingertips.

"Look at me, you great, overgrown lizard!" Irileth brought her sword down on the other side of the dragon's face. He roared, breathing fire in her direction, only it seemed to spray across some kind of half-invisible shield. "You'll have to do better than that!" the housecarl cried. Mariah regained her senses; she shot a continual stream of electricity at him, while Irileth bravely slashed at him with her sword. Arrows and bolts pelted the beast's armored scales, bouncing off to no effect.

She knew what she had to do, she just didn't relish the idea of _doing it._ Somehow, though, they had to pierce the creature's thick scales, maybe crack its skull open.

"What are you doing?!"

Mariah grabbed one of the beast's horns with one hand. It looked at her, speaking in draconic. "I can't understand you," she said, grimly pulling the greatsword. He tried to snap at her, but she danced out of the way, keeping her handhold on his horn.

He bunched up, intending to take off again, and she had this wild, crazy idea. Right before he took off, she swung one leg over his neck. He rose into the air, and she clung for dear life. The crazy idea quickly became a bad one as she realized that it would be so, so easy for her to fall. The height became dizzying, raw terror lending her grip strength, the greatsword, forgotten on the ground. She hadn't planned far enough ahead for this.

"What do you plan, little mortal?" The dragon's words were serious. He glanced back at her, but it was obvious he wouldn't be able to bite her from this angle. She had a death grip on both of his horns, her legs wrapped tightly around his neck. "Think you to tame me, then? Bah!"

He rolled in midair, and the world rolled under her, and all she could think was that _this_ was why roller coasters had such safety precautions, because she was going to die, she was _so_ going to die, her hands were slipping –

He couldn't stay that way for very long; he righted himself and resumed circling over the tower below.

She had to do something.

She had a mission.

One of the guards' crossbow bolts punched through her leg, and she screamed in pain.

No time to think.

She drew one of her remaining swords with both hands, clinging to the dragon's back with her legs, and began to pry at the back of his neck with the weapon. It slipped between two scales, exactly as she had planned, and drew blood. He roared in wordless agony as she slid the sword through the back of his skull. This time, when he tumbled, it was not a controlled roll. She thought fire at the sword, desperate to finish her task before her task finished her.

The dragon's skull _exploded._

And she realized with horrible clarity that there was no longer anyone piloting his body. The beast began to burn, an all-over sort of thing that somehow left her unscathed. White light streamed towards her, blinding her as her legs failed to keep their grip. She realized suddenly that she was falling free of the dragon's corpse.

She felt like she was floating in midair, her perception slowed down to the exact moment of her inevitable doom, before she went flying all on her own.

She felt like she was crash landing as she woke in her own bed, her body shoved downward into the soft memory foam. Fortunately, her bed was more forgiving than the hard ground she'd been headed for, and despite a slight protest in the form of squeaky springs underneath the foam topper, she was largely uninjured. Sunlight fought its way past the tall bookshelf to peek into the room.

So she'd died. That was it.

As demises went, hers was surprisingly less than final.

She'd never get to see Lucia again, and that made her unaccountably sad.

She sighed, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow. She wasn't ready to be conscious yet, so she made the decision she just wouldn't be. She fell back to sleep in short order.

…. _the taste of something bittersweet on her tongue. "Don't you die on me." The housecarl knelt over her broken body, pouring the potion into her mouth. Everything hurt._

_A soft moan of pain escaped her, and she crawled back into the darkness of her mind._

Her dreams didn't make much sense, but then, they rarely did. She got the sense that she was fighting, struggling against something, but she didn't know who or what she was fighting against.

She woke a while later in the real world. Mondays were always the same. Breakfast first, then a visit to the chiropractor, then home, then video games. Simple, boring, Monday.

She locked her computers, pushing away from her desk. She went about turning off all the lights in the house, going about her nightly routine.

All the lights were out, and she was going to bed, and she looked out the dining room window idly.

There was a sense of fear, and then the world went dark.


	21. Chapter 21: Back to Business

**_A Stranger in Skyrim_**

_Chapter Twenty-One: Back to Business_

By: N3k0

In which magic cures all ills.

A tumble of nonsensical words rolled through her mind, the loudest voices actually Shouting at her.

"_Dovahkiin!" _they seemed to say.

She groaned, opening eyes that refused to focus properly.

She tasted copper in her mouth. Reaching up to feel her face, her hand came away wet. She looked around to try and figure out where she'd ended up, but it was impossibly dark.

She started to panic.

Although she had excellent night vision, it did her no good if there wasn't _any_ light. Trying to keep calm, she felt around her. She was in a tight space. Wall, door – there, cold porcelain. She identified it immediately as the bathroom. She was sitting on the floor next to the toilet, which explained the tight confines; her bathroom was ridiculously tiny. Feeling up the wall, she found the light switch and flipped it on.

Relief flooded her, even though her eyes complained at the sudden light and she had to close them.

Now all she had to do was clean up all the blood.

She deliberately did not think about exactly what would cause that kind of a reaction, because she had her suspicions and they were _wrong._

She picked herself up, unlocked the door, and, taking a deep breath to prepare herself, opened it.

There was nothing there.

She laughed a bit at herself. She was being silly. Why would there be anything inside her house?

She walked to her bedroom, took her night meds, and crawled into bed. Nothing popped out at her, nothing was there but her own foolish imagination.

For the first time in months, she left the bedside lamp on when she went to sleep.

She was roused out of a vague nightmare by another: everything was pain. She felt her bones grinding against each other as they set themselves, and she cried out in agony as the nerves protested their treatment.

A woman stood above her, her hands glowing with white light. She wore brown robes with a yellow hood, and she spoke soft, soothing, nonsense words.

The pain slowly subsided as everything sank into its proper place. Mariah sagged with relief.

"You're awake then? Good. I was afraid … generally it's a bad idea to let someone with a cracked skull sleep, but nothing could rouse you." The woman smiled. "You've had a lot of visitors. Mostly well-wishers, some of the guards who were with you when you killed that dragon. The Jarl himself even came down from Dragonsreach. You're a popular lady."

She sat up slowly, with a groan. "What time is it … ?"

"Morning. You're hungry?"

Mariah nodded slowly.

"We'll get you something to eat." Another smile. "Now, and this is important: don't do anything too strenuous for the next couple of days. I had to heal a lot of damage, and you're still on the mend."

She rubbed the back of her head. "Define 'strenuous,' please." She doubted she'd get a real chance to rest, after all. What had even happened to her possessions?

"No fighting. Period. No heavy lifting, no long journeys, no running, or jumping, or … whatever it is you hero types do, don't do it. Understand me, if you strain yourself too much, you won't heal properly. You're fragile right now."

She nodded. "Understood. Can I at least make the trip up to Dragonsreach? If the Jarl came to see me, I'm sure it's important."

"If you think you're up to it, I suppose. Just be careful. I don't want to see you back here because you broke something again."

A smile. "I'll do my best. Now … what was this about food?"

She ate a hearty meal of meat, bread, and cheese, put together in a configuration she chose to call a "sandwich." It was a medieval time period, so she was fairly sure she got to "invent" certain modern ideas like that.

"Thank you again. Do I owe you anything?"

The woman shook her head. "Your expenses were covered by the Jarl. He said that it was the least he could do for a dragonslayer."

"I – see. Well, thank you anyway. I didn't expect to survive that fall."

Another shake of the head. "You wouldn't have, except that Irileth managed to get an extremely powerful healing potion into you, and quickly." The woman smiled. "I just finished the job. If you thank anyone today, it should be the housecarl."

"I will, but you have my thanks anyway. Where are my things, please?"

The woman produced all of her gear, even the pieces Mariah hadn't noticed were missing. She _had_ to get used to the idea of carrying a weapon with her everywhere.

She arranged her things in their normal places. Everything felt heavier than it had been before, but then, she was still worn out from the healing. If she'd been as battered as she still felt, it was a miracle she was up and walking. She remembered the first day after her surgery, and her inability to move.

Magic beat modern medicine, apparently.

Who knew?

The trip up to Dragonsreach, though exhausting, was largely uneventful. She sagged against the great doors of the place before she finally pushed them open.

Spying the Jarl, she noticed he had other people with him.

"Good," the fancy-robed man said. "You're finally here. The Jarl's been waiting for you."

The Jarl had another visitor, a man in leather armor that looked like it had been ripped off some ancient barbarian hero … wait, he probably _was_ an ancient barbarian hero. He was big, muscular, and looked kind of mean.

"You heard the summons," the Jarl was saying as she approached his throne. "What else could it mean? The Graybeards …."

The barbarian shrugged slightly, turning to look at her. "We were just talking about you. My brother needs a word with you."

"Aye-aye." She said it tiredly, with a faint smile.

The Jarl regarded her calmly. "My guards have given their reports, but I'd like to hear your tale, please. Leave nothing out. Any details you remember might be important, if we should have to face another."

She looked up at the ceiling, for a moment, folding her hands behind her back. "Yessir. The watchtower was destroyed; there was rubble everywhere, and everything was burning. Only one guard had survived the dragon's attack, and he was telling us to get away. The dragon swooped down – Irileth did most of the fighting." She ducked her head, embarrassed. "I mostly just shot lightning at it."

"I knew I could count on Irileth. But my guards tell me that you had your moment, no?"

She shook her head. "I grabbed the dragon, when it was about to take off, and nearly got killed for my efforts, sir. I guess I dealt the killing blow, but really, I would have died on my own."

He nodded. "And then?"

"The dragon – when it was dying, it … _melted._ I remember that. And then … there was a white light, coming from its corpse. I think – I think it was coming for me. I blacked out … I don't remember, I'm sorry."

The Jarl closed his eyes, processing that. "So it's true – the Greybeards really were summoning you."

"The … Greybeards, sir?"

He nodded once. "Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World." Oh goodie. She was going to get to go mountain climbing.

"What … I'm sorry, what would they want with _me?"_

The Jarl regarded her oddly. "That light you saw … it was most likely the dragon's very soul. You absorbed it into your body … I'd wager that power is part of why you didn't die from your injuries. If that's true – if you are Dragonborn, then you should be able to Shout, like the dragons do. The Greybeards could teach you to use your gift, if you let them."

"Didn't you hear that thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?" The Jarl's brother asked. "That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar!"

She shook her head. "I don't think I was conscious for that."

But she remembered. _Dovahkiin, _they'd called her, in her dream. Dragonborn.

"This hasn't happened in … centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned while he was still Talos of Atmora!" Talos … one of the Divines?

The fancy-pants man folded his arms. "Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here?" He gestured to her. "Capable as she may be, I don't see any signs of her being this, what, 'Dragonborn.'"

"Nord nonsense?! Why you puffed up, ignorant …" He sputtered for a moment. "These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the first Empire!"

"Hrongar," The Jarl smiled, humor in his voice. "Don't be so hard on Avenicci."

Fancy-pants – Avenicci – shook his head. "I meant no disrespect, of course. It's just that … what do these Greybeards want with her?"

She'd like to know that, herself.

"That's the Greybeards' business, not ours." He looked away from his brother and his advisor, staring straight at her. "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you are Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There is no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor."

She shifted a little, uncertainly. "There might be a slight problem with the 'immediate' part of that. I'm not to do anything strenuous for the next few days …."

He waved his hand, dismissively. "I envy you, you know. To climb the seven thousand steps again... I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? It's a difficult journey … perhaps you _should_ wait until you're well."

"What can you tell me about this 'High Hrothgar?'"

He looked distant for a moment. "High Hrothgar is a very … peaceful place. Very disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder that the Greybeards even notice what's going on down here. They haven't seemed to care before." He shook his head. "No matter. Go High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you."

A slight pause, as one of the servants came up with a few items.

"You've done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn," Jarl Balgruuf announced. "By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia as your personal housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office." He smiled. "I'll also notify my guards of your new status. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we? We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn."

"My – my lord, I can't – "

He took the axe from his own belt, holding it out to her with both hands. "You can, and you will. My servant will lead you to the armory to choose a small selection of items for your past deeds, as well."

She shook her head, but obediently followed the servant when he beckoned. As she was walking away, she heard the Jarl speak again.

"Back to business, Proventus. We still have a city to defend."


End file.
